


Found God in a Lover

by MsPooslie, sablier_bloque



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableist Language, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Sex, Anxiety, BDSM, Background Daddy Kink, Background Polyamory, Blasphemy, Boot Play, Butt Plugs, Choking, Crying, Dacryphilia, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub outside the bedroom, Dungeon, Explicit Consent, Face-Sitting, Facials, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Impact Play, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Death, Minor Clint Barton/Kate Bishop - Freeform, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Non-Binary Natasha Romanov, Objectification, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Pining, Praise Kink, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rope Bondage, Sadomasochism, Sex Club, Sex Worker Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Topping from the Bottom, Voyeurism, idiots to lovers, mention of animal abuse, mid-scene negotiations, omg they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-28 19:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20972189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPooslie/pseuds/MsPooslie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: Bucky left New York seven years ago to help his family care for his ill sister. When he returns to go back to school, he finds that his lifelong best friend is now a confident pro-dom with cool friends who spend their weekends at The Victorian, a 19th-century music-hall-turned-BDSM-club. One voyeuristic night at The Vic leaves Bucky reeling, longing for things he never knew he wanted, namely to fall to his knees and submit to the guy whom Bucky had spent his whole childhood trying to protect.This is a story of love and longing, give and take, and all of the beautiful things two souls can exchange.Written for the 2019 Captain America Big Bang.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our submission for the 2019 Captain America Big Bang! I’m so, so happy that I was able to collaborate with [MsPooslie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPooslie). She was a dream to work with! Thank you so much for creating beautiful art for this story!
> 
> Thank you to [221BrosieWilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde) for a superb and helpful beta and for being my kinky partner-in-crime. Thank you to [batmandeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmandeh), [betheflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame), and [deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deisderium) for reading and cheerleading at various stages of this story and being such lovely friends!
> 
> Not all kinks are for everyone! I will tag kinks relevant to each installment in the chapter notes in case you need to skip something. Please let me know if I’ve forgotten something.  
**Chapter 1 kinks**  
Voyeurism, in which Bucky sees the following: rope bondage, daddy kink (Daddy!Natasha/Clint; there is no daddy kink between Steve and Bucky), boot play, breath play, face sitting, oral sex, impact, sadomasochism.
> 
> Title from Halsey's 'Coming Down.'

_How long you would wait for me?_  
_And how long I've been away_  
_The shape that I'm in now, your shape in the doorway_  
_Make your good love known to me_  
_Or just tell me 'bout your day_  
Hozier, 'As It Was'

Bucky Barnes was _not_ freaking out.

He wasn’t. It wasn’t like he’d been in a compressed metal tube 30,000 feet in the air the last two hours, his body prickling with anxiety, his chest compressing, his stomach swooping low at the slightest bump of turbulence.

_Sure, Barnes. You’re not freaking out at all._

This flight had been particularly rough; they got caught up in a storm somewhere over Maryland, and he’d spent the last half hour white-knuckled, reminding himself to just _breathe_, trying to tell himself it would all be worth it once he got home.

He sighed shakily in relief when the captain finally announced their descent. Landing made his ears hurt, but at least it meant he was almost out of this damn thing. 15 minutes later, he felt comfortable enough to open the window screen on his left, and his eyes immediately fell to the city stretched below. He could see the long line of Manhattan, concrete sprawled between the Hudson and East Rivers, save for the thin block of green that marked Central Park to the north. Brooklyn wasn’t visible from this angle, but he didn’t need to see it. He’d spent 20 years of his life there before everything happened with Becca, and he knew it like the back of his damn hand. It was home.

When the plane finally landed five minutes later, he switched his phone off airplane mode and two messages popped up.

**Mom**  
_Text me when you land. Love you!_

**Steve**  
_Hey Bucky, looks like you’re at Baggage Claim 11. I’m here waiting for ya._

Of course Steve was already waiting. Steve was always early. Bucky used to have less-than-punctual habits when they were younger, making Steve grumpy and sour every time he showed up late. But years of doctor visits, chemo treatments, and anxiously worrying about the unknown had probably turned Bucky into an even bigger early bird than Steve at this point. He would miss Steve griping at him about it but had full confidence that he’d find something else to bug him about. He wouldn’t be Steve without something to gripe about, and he wouldn’t be Bucky without letting him.

He sent a quick reply to Steve and his mom as he stepped off the plane. It was a long walk from the gate to Baggage Claim (JFK was kind of a monstrous beast), but he finally spotted the blond of Steve’s hair, his body casually perched on the edge of the carousel like the little rebel he was. He was wearing a soft gray t-shirt with the arms rolled up, skinny jeans, and a pair of beat-up Doc Martens. Bucky had seen Steve a handful of times over the last few years whenever time or money permitted visits, and of course they followed each other on social media; but he still sometimes forgot how much Steve had _transformed_ since Bucky left.

He was still a pretty skinny guy, though he’d probably put on 10 to 15 pounds since Bucky left sophomore year of college. But his body was lightyears away from what it used to be — hunched shoulders had smoothed themselves back and his hair was now swept away from his face, no longer a curtain to hide behind. The confidence that Steve would poorly feign in the face of a bully or a problem—puffed chest, jutting chin— was natural now, soft but present. At some point between college and today, he’d shaved an undercut into his hair and gotten a few tattoos and a septum piercing, which, sure, would give almost anyone a few extra cool points, but it was the change in the way he carried himself that finally projected an image of the amazing person Bucky always knew was inside.

“Bucky!” Steve suddenly yelled from across the whole damn terminal and ran to give him a giant, bone-crushing hug.

“Hiya, Steve,” Bucky responded, smiling, tightening his arms around him.

“Welcome home, pal.” Steve was still hugging him and his voice was soft, a little warbly, an attempt to rein in emotions. But it was okay. Bucky could handle it. Yeah, he was moving back to Brooklyn after all these years. Yeah, his sister had died eight months ago. But Steve being emotional about either of those things wasn’t going to break him. It selfishly made him feel a little warm inside to hear Steve getting all choked up, so Bucky stepped back and ruffled Steve’s hair like he knew Steve hated.

“Hey, fuck off,” he replied, smacking Bucky’s hand away. He flipped his hair back and ran his fingers through it in an attempt to repair what Bucky had messed up. The baggage carousel started moving and they walked over to wait for Bucky’s luggage. “Was the flight okay?”

Steve knew how much he hated flying. Bucky shrugged. “Best. Flight. Ever.”

“Right.”

“Whatever. I’m on solid ground again. Solid New York ground, for that matter, even if it’s Queens.”

Steve’s eyes crinkled with affection before he tugged on a strand of Bucky’s hair. “I still can’t believe how long your hair has gotten.” It was down to his shoulders now.

Bucky shrugged and gestured roundly to his hair and his perpetual five o’clock shadow. “I’ve just embraced it at this point. Went for the queer Jesus look to scandalize the locals during my time in the Bible Belt.”

Steve laughed. “Are you hungry? I didn’t book anything tonight, so I’m all yours. We could grab some pho or something.”

Right. Bookings. Bucky knew about that. He did. And he was fine with it, really. Steve had told him up front when Bucky had called to share the news about getting into grad school at NYU Tandon and to ask if Steve had space at his place for a roommate. Steve didn’t really have a room available until November but had offered to let Bucky sleep in his own room until then. But that was when Steve had laid it on him: yeah, he sold his paintings when he could, but he was also a sex worker.

A pro-dom, to be exact.

“Informed consent, and all that,” Steve had said. “So you know what you’re getting into. And my roommate Clint. He’s not a professional or anything but he’s also kinky. We’ll try to be respectful but if anything bothers you, just say the word and we’ll make changes as necessary.”

Sure, it had been a big ol’ surprise to think about Steve that way, doing all sorts of things to all sorts of people, but Bucky had been too happy about the prospect of returning to Brooklyn and living with his best friend and maybe, finally, moving on with his goddamn life to care about any of it. But now Steve was standing before him, talking about it like it was nothing, and a little knot of some unidentifiable weirdness clenched in his chest.

“Earth to Buck? Yes? No? Pho?”

Bucky suddenly saw both of his suitcases on the belt, and he ran to grab them, thankful for the reprieve from awkwardness. He called out behind himself. “Too hot for pho.” He pulled the suitcases off the carousel, and Steve was already grabbing one of them when he turned back around.

“Alright,” Steve replied as they headed toward the bus area. “What do you want then?”

Bucky followed him. “Well, considering I’ve been living in the goddamn south the last seven years, I could really go for some real pizza.”

Steve laughed and continued along, the suitcase wheeling behind him. “Sure.”

They hopped on the bus to Steve’s place—_their_ place now— to drop off Bucky’s luggage before grabbing dinner. Steve still lived in the apartment where he’d grown up. There hadn’t been much left on the mortgage when Sarah died in an accident nine years ago, so Steve would’ve been an idiot to get rid of it, especially with gentrification skyrocketing the rent around Williamsburg. Bucky had moved in with him then, foregoing the freshman dorms and shorter commute for cheaper rent and the chance to help Steve during his grief. It had been two of the best years of his life until Becca was diagnosed with leukemia. Then the Barneses had packed up and moved in with Bucky’s grandparents in North Carolina so they could share caretaker responsibilities as a family.

Thinking of Becca made his chest seize suddenly in discomfort, so he pushed it down, plastered on a smile, and made a joke about a random billboard they were passing. It fell flat, but Steve still gave him a little half grin as their shoulders brushed together.

Bucky looked down then and saw the _BROOKLYN_ tattoo scrawled across Steve’s knuckles. He saw the paintbrush on his right forearm and the roses and vines peeking out from the shirt sleeve of his left arm, which he knew belonged to one of his tattoos honoring Sarah. The flowers trailed upward and surrounded the emblem that had been painted on her beloved motorcycle, a star surrounded by two circles, shaded in her favorite color, purple. He knew about the other tattoos as well: the clover on the right side of his neck, the triquetra knot centered between his shoulder blades, the motorcycle engine and roses right above his heart— _1968 - 2009. Sarah._

Bucky had never met anyone like Sarah Rogers. She’d been huge in the punk scene before Steve had come along, and when Bucky thought back on her now, he remembered her stark blue eyes lined in kohl, purple streaks in her long, curly hair, and the best goddamn hugs — second only to his own mom. She’d had three tattoos herself; one for each of her parents and one for Steve, and he knew it would’ve delighted her beyond belief to know that Steve had carried on her tradition. Especially since Steve had really looked like such a normie when they were kids and not at all like he’d had the coolest mom on the planet.

When they finally got to the building, Steve grabbed the second suitcase and started to climb the three flights of stairs to the apartment.

“Hey, Steve. Let me get that. I can carry both of them.” Bucky didn’t know what lugging luggage (_ha_) up all those stairs would do to Steve’s asthma, and he didn’t want to find out.

Steve just raised an eyebrow at him before turning back around and continuing his ascent. “I’m stronger than I look, ya know.”

Bucky sighed. “That’s not what I mea—”

“The longer you stand there, the longer until pizza!” Steve interrupted loudly. Bucky rolled his eyes and followed after him.

Steve was a little bit wheezy when they reached the right floor but didn’t seem at all distressed, so Bucky told himself not to worry about it, to ignore the slight feeling of panic he got whenever Steve’s body failed him, even the smallest bit. Then Steve unlocked the door, stepped inside, and gasped.

“Clint. What the fuck, dude?”

Bucky peered inside from the doorway and there was, presumably, Steve’s roommate, shirtless, suspended mid-air, tied to some sort of wooden beam contraption. He was sitting in a hip harness made of rope, like a mountain climber might use, with one ankle tied upward and the other dangling toward the ground.

“What?” he asked, turning around, his hands still fiddling with a knot, when his eyes moved past Steve to land on Bucky behind him. “Aw, fuck. I thought he was coming the eighteenth.”

“It _is_ the eighteenth!”

“Shit. Well, uh,” he looked downward. “I guess this looks bad.” Then he turned and gave a half-cocked smile to Bucky. “But, um, I’m Clint. Welcome to the abode. I’d come say hi, but—”

“But you’re all tied up?” Bucky said, his eyes flitting over to Steve, Hater of Puns, to gauge his reaction.

Steve rolled his eyes, mumbling “Jesus,” while Clint barked in laughter.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I promised Steve I’d be super vanilla and normal while you were around and now I’ve fucked that to hell and back.” He reached upward and started loosening one of the lines. “I’ll be down and done in just a sec.”

“It’s alright,” Steve replied. “We’re just dropping off Bucky’s stuff and then grabbing pizza. You want us to bring you some?”

“I’m grabbing dinner with Tash, but Lucky would not say no to a slice of pepperoni.”

“Your dog eats better than you, Barton.”

“Well,” Clint said, tying rope around his other ankle, obviously giving up the pretense of non-kinky normalcy. “He’s a better person than I am.”

“You have a dog?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah! The one-eyed wonder. He’s in my room. He thinks rope is a toy.”

“We’ll meet him when we get back,” Steve said. He turned to Bucky. “We can put your stuff in my room.”

Bucky followed him into the apartment, which had changed dramatically since Bucky had last been here a few years ago. The kitchen had been remodeled with soft gray cabinetry, a pale contrast to the colorful backsplash and vibrant dishes on the open shelving. The living room, which had been a murky tan belonging to the era of disco and bad decisions, was now a bright mint green with stylish charcoal furniture and Steve’s own art on the walls, including a portrait he’d painted of Sarah when they were in college.

The bedroom was different too; brighter walls, new furniture, and a much nicer drafting desk had replaced the one Steve had gotten as a kid. Bucky was surprised Steve could afford all of this in such a short period of time. Of course, the room was a complete disaster, but that was par for the course with Steve.

“You ready?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, then followed Steve out the door and back downstairs to the street. The August air was sticky and hot, stifling. He pulled the hair tie off his wrist and tied his hair back. He’d almost forgotten what summers in New York were like. Almost. _Nothing like summer in the city. Everything is smelly and everything is sticky._

“I’m really sorry about that, Bucky,” Steve said suddenly as they turned the corner, pulling Bucky from his _Hamilton_ rewrite. “That wasn’t cool, and I really hope it doesn’t happen again.”

Bucky shrugged. “I feel like in the grand scheme of things, that was a pretty tame thing to walk in on.” Really. Because after the call where Steve had thrown down the pro-dom gauntlet, he’d done some _Google Image research_. He’d _seen some things_, and that run-in with Clint had really been a whole lot of nothing. “He could’ve been practicing his rock climbing skills or something. So it’s fine. I think my—what’d he call it— ‘vanilla’ brain can handle it.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but gave a faint shrug. “Alright. I don’t think you’ll see anything worse than that. The problem is that the rig is too big to fit in either of the bedrooms, so any suspension has gotta happen in the living room. I thought we could just work around your schedule or whatever.”

“I’m sure I can handle suspension. If it’s not too, ya know, extreme,” Bucky replied, his ears burning as he remembered some of the photos he’d found while researching, but if Steve noticed he didn’t say anything about it.

They got to the pizzeria and ordered a large pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni (for Lucky!), and Bucky ascended to a greasy cloud nine as soon as he folded and bit into the first slice.

“Oh my god, I’m never leaving New York again,” he moaned before shoveling in another bite.

Steve smiled at him softly. “Good.” He opened his mouth to speak again but then closed it.

“What?”

“Well, it’s selfish to say, and I don’t mean anything by it because of course you had to go, but I’ve missed you, Buck. I’m…” he took a deep breath, “I’m really fucking glad you’re back.”

A strange brew of sadness and relief and hope and grief bubbled within Bucky, and fuck, he was not about to cry in the middle of this pizza place. So he took a swig of beer.

“Me too, pal,” he whispered around the lump in his throat.

*

Steve Rogers was a lot of things, and some of those things were frankly annoying as hell, but Steve Rogers was not a liar. So Bucky believed him 100 percent when Steve said he’d missed him during their years apart.

And Bucky knew deep down that he had. Except, well, the next week showed another kind of picture all together. Steve had friends now, _a lot_ of friends, it seemed. His phone was constantly buzzing with texts, and folks would just drop by for a beer on their way home from work. They’d call him _Steve-o_ and _Cap_ (_what?_) and would touch him so openly and affectionately that it made Bucky’s skin prickle.

Bucky had been Steve’s one and only friend before he’d moved away. Steve had been a skinny little punk with a target on his back, annoying and self-righteous. Half the school would pick on him and the other half would find him to be Too Much To Deal With on any given day. Most teenagers didn’t want to hear lectures about Bush invading Iraq or the cruelty of the war on drugs or the gentrification of Williamsburg. Bucky hadn’t cared much about those sorts of things back then either, but he’d listened good-naturedly because it was _Steve_, because they’d been inseparable since second grade, and because who would have listened if Bucky hadn’t? He’d always figured that Steve had _needed_ him on some granular level, and that had been just fine with him.

Except that clearly wasn’t true; at least not anymore.

Steve came home the following Thursday, shirt sticking to his back from the sweltering sun. Occasionally he’d come home from a client in a suit, but most of the time he’d wear what Bucky thought of as his uniform — black v-neck, black jeans that looked soft to the touch, and the Docs he wore almost everywhere. Except this time, his boots looks shiny and polished, with only the creases at the toes signaling that they weren’t brand new.

“What happened to your boots?” Bucky asked. He was sitting in the living room doing pre-work for the professor he would be working with as a TA that semester, with Lucky at his feet. He had another week until school started, and he was a little nervous about going back, especially as a grad student in Mechatronics and Robotics. Not only was it his first semester as a TA, it was his first time back as a full-time student since Becca’s diagnosis.

“Uh. Well. If you want to know?” Steve replied, obviously giving Bucky an out if he didn’t want specifics.

Sure. “It’s fine.” He could handle it.

“My last client is very into service and she’s been learning about bootblacking.”

“Wait, wait,” Bucky said, closing his laptop. “People pay _you_ to serve you?”

Steve gave him an adorable grin. “Sometimes. The beauty of power exchange.” But then his face sobered after a few seconds. “It isn’t always fun and games though, depending on the person or the scene. Sometimes it’s great but it can still take a lot out of me emotionally. And I’m pretty much in charge of the person’s wellbeing the whole time, so...” He trailed off.

“Ah, hell, Steve,” Bucky responded. “I didn’t mean to make light of your work. Honest.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Steve quickly whipped the neck of his shirt back and forth to try to cool himself off before he gave up, took it off, and headed to stand in front of the window unit. “Christ, it’s hot out.” Bucky suddenly realized that he hadn’t seen Steve without his shirt yet because there was a new tattoo he didn’t recognize on the left side of his torso near his hip - two hands together in prayer, wrapped in rope instead of the traditional rosary.

Steve’s phone must’ve buzzed suddenly in his pocket because he grabbed for it and opened the screen to read a message. “Hey, pal, you mind if my friend Sam comes over for dinner tonight?”

He wanted to say, how many fucking friends do you have now; instead he just smiled and nodded. “Sure, why not?”

So that was how he met Sam, with his thick biceps and charming smile and warm-honey voice. He was really, really good looking. Really. Swipe the fuck right, if Sam weren’t already gazing at Steve like he hung the goddamn moon.

And that was how almost all of these friends looked at Steve, even Clint. Like he was special. Like he was important. Like he was loved and cared for and appreciated and respected. And fuck, yeah, Steve _was_ special and deserved all of those things, but he wasn’t used to the entire rest of the world finally seeing it.

“Your friend always this quiet, Cap?” Sam asked, and there was that fucking nickname again. They were sitting around the small dining table tucked under the suspension rig, digging into chicken tinga tacos.

“Not usually, no,” Steve replied with a frown. “You alright, Buck?”

“Peachy.” He fiddled with the label on his beer and grinned the best he could.

“Well, how does it feel to be back in Brooklyn?” Sam asked before taking another bite of his taco. “Steve’s been talking about you coming back nonstop.”

_Oh._ That elicited a real smile. “I think I’m still getting readjusted to city life. But it’s good to live with Steve again. We were roommates in college.” He realized that made it sound like they only knew each other from college, so—“But we’ve known each other our whole lives, of course.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about your adventures. Is Steve the only old friend you still keep in touch with?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, fuck. You should come to The Vic on Saturday! It’s the second anniversary party, so there’ll be lots of people for you to meet. You can make yourself some new friends!” The Vic — short for The Victorian — was an old, nineteenth-century music hall in Bed Stuy that was now an LGBTQ+/BDSM community center and dungeon. You could play board games with your queer friends on Wednesday night and get whipped by your kinky friends the following Saturday. Steve helped run the place with about 20 other volunteers, as if he didn’t have enough to do between art work and sex work.

“Uh,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “Bucky’s pretty vanilla. So.”

And that was true (probably), but it almost sounded like a challenge, even if his throat wanted to close up at the thought. “Well, it’s not like I have anything else better to do.”

Steve blinked in surprise. “Really? You want to go?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Ha _ha_! Yes!” Sam exclaimed. “That’s what I’m talking about, man.” He clapped him on the shoulder. Bucky tried not to scowl at him. “My corruptive powers are limitless.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved Sam playfully. But when he turned back to Bucky, he gave a slight frown of confusion.

And _ooo, boy_, what exactly had he gotten himself into?

*

Bucky was already on his side of the bed, resting against the wall with an e-book on his phone when Steve came in to go to sleep. Clint was planning on moving in with his partner, Tash, on November 1, so Bucky was just grateful that Steve didn’t mind sharing his space with him in the meantime.

Steve plugged in his phone, placed it on the nightstand, and looked at him before sitting down. “Bucky, are you sure you want to go to The Vic?”

His brows furrowed. “Do you not want me to go?”

“No, no. That’s not— that’s not it at all. It’s just… it’s going to be more than Clint suspending himself. You might see things that make you uncomfortable.”

“What, like people fucking?” he asked, almost as a joke, his voice going a little higher than he’d like.

“Among other things,” Steve said so nonchalantly that Bucky’s eyes widened before he could school a poker face.

He laughed shakily. “I _have_ had sex before.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No shit, dumbass. There will just be a lot going on. It can be overwhelming the first time, even if you’re already into all this stuff.”

Something in Bucky prickled at Steve’s assumption. He wanted to joke—_ha, who says I’m not?_— but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I’ll head home if it’s too much,” he replied instead. “It’s just Bed Stuy.”

“Alright, well, I don’t actually have much planned because I just wanted it to be a chill night. So we’ll be able to stick together for most of it. But Clint and I are doing a performance with his other partner Kate. I’ll make Tash or Sam babysit you then.”

_Babysit?_ This little punk.

*

Bucky worked himself into a little bit of a tizzy on Friday because he was going to a sex dungeon and he didn’t know what to wear or what to expect or how to act. He was _slightly_ panicked, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Steve about it because he was _totally cool_ with going, of course, and didn’t want Steve to think otherwise.

So he asked Clint.

“Uh, well, you can really wear whatever you want.” He was sprawled on the couch in gym shorts, watching dumb YouTube videos with Lucky lying on his chest.

Bucky sighed. “That’s not helpful.”

“Well, you’ll find that the kink world is very much like the real world. Cis dudes tend to make very little effort. So there will be lots of women and trans and nonbinary hotties walking around, lookin’ like a million bucks, and their boyfriends will just throw on a wrinkled shirt from the floor before walking out the door.” Bucky narrowed his eyes because that sounded exactly like something Clint would do. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Well!” Bucky gestured to Clint’s stained t-shirt.

“Tash is in charge, Buckeroo. They’d never let me get away with going to an event like that. Now, what I do in my own home is my own damn business.”

“Until you move in together.”

Clint shrugged. “Listen, just wear what you’d wear on a date or something. Wear your pretty hair down. Put on some hot boots if you got ‘em. And if you decide this whole scene is _your_ scene, then you can figure out what that means for your wardrobe.”

Bucky nodded. “Alright. Thanks.” He turned to head back to the bedroom.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Steve you’re freaking out.”

Bucky flipped him the bird and shut the door behind him.

*

On Saturday, Bucky showered and dried his hair with an actual blow dryer, so it was silky and soft at his shoulders. He figured all-black was a safe choice, so he put on a tight black t-shirt, jeans, and boots.

Steve was still in the shower when he’d finished getting ready, so he sat on the couch with Lucky and resolutely did not act like the big’ ol ball of anxiety he felt on the inside. _No, siree._

He was about 4.5 seconds from backing away from this very brave and very dumb decision he’d made just to show up Steve’s stupid friend, when Steve finally walked out of the bathroom. His hair was swept back, undercut freshly buzzed, and he was wearing a plum purple tank top that showed off the lithe muscles of his arms and the tattoos they held. Bucky’s eyes moved down to his very tight jeans and back up to his face, where he saw that Steve’s eyes were lined with black, making them even bluer. And prettier.

“Wow, you look good, Buck,” Steve said, grinning.

Steve looked better than good. He looked… hot. But Bucky just squeaked out a, “Yeah, you too.”

Steve went into the bedroom and came back out with a duffle bag on his shoulder. Then Lucky gave a sorrowful huff, his one eye still working just fine in the sad puppy dog eye department. “We’ll be back, buddy,” Bucky told him.

On the bus ride over, Steve nudged him with his shoulder. “Did you read the rules I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky replied. Honestly, going into this place without any ground rules sounded like the most terrifying way he could possibly handle it. Most of them were pretty much common sense, like _don’t touch someone without their permission_ but there were other things like _don’t interrupt someone’s scene_ that Bucky might not have inherently known was a bad thing.

He followed Steve once they got off the bus, and it was only a few minutes’ walk until they were standing across the street from a large red brick building with stained glass windows and dark green trim. There was no flashy neon sign like you’d see at a club, and the entrance wasn’t even on the main street. Steve crossed the road and turned the corner, where the only indication that they were in the right place was a mailbox on the door with _The Victorian_ marked with sticky black and gold letters you’d buy at the hardware store.

There was a beautiful woman with a dazzling smile at the front desk who Steve introduced as Nakia. She checked Bucky in as Steve’s guest and then they climbed a wide, dark wooden staircase to the main floor. It was… well, it wasn’t at all what Bucky was expecting. He knew it was a Victorian, but he’d always pictured a dungeon to be in a grimy warehouse, with chains hanging from the ceiling and suspicious splatters on the floor. This place pretty much looked like his grandmother designed it, with floral wallpaper and cozy couches and a giant table filled with potluck wares.

But that was where the thoughts of good ol’ Granny Barnes stopped. Because then his eyes fell to crosses and spanking benches and suspension rigs. The people that were there were in all manners of dress: thigh-highs and heels, latex dresses, booty shorts and fishnets, leather harnesses, kilts, flower crowns, and several folks with nothing on at all. And yeah, Clint was right about the slovenly dudes, too.

His eyes finally fell to Steve next to him, and he was giving Bucky a warm, amused smile. “You’re kind of adorable taking it all in.”

Bucky pushed him playfully. “Fuck off, man.”

Steve laughed. “Welcome to The Vic. Let me introduce you to everyone.” He took Bucky up a spiral staircase that led to a balcony, which overlooked the entire floor. “This is officially called the mezzanine, but, heh, we call it the Perv Perch.” He led Bucky to the railing and he instantly saw how it got its name. You could easily see every play space and every scene from up here.

“Hey, Cap!” They turned around and saw Clint in a leather harness with a steel collar around his neck, sitting at the feet of a redhead whom Bucky could only assume to be Tash.

“Hiya, Tash,” Steve said, confirming Bucky’s suspicions and crossing the mezzanine to reach them. Tash stood up, and Bucky saw a _they/them_ pronoun button pinned to their crop top. The shirt itself read _Femme Daddy_ in a curvy script reminiscent of the Coca-Cola font. They were also wearing a checkered mini-skirt and Doc Martens identical to Steve’s. In fact, they basically had the same haircut too, though Tash’s was curly and fell across their forehead in a lovely sort of way. Steve gave them a hug and they looked back at him with a smile.

“May I kiss you?” they asked. Steve answered with a nod and a soft press of lips and then another. _Oh_, Bucky thought. Were they dating? Or maybe used to date? Or fucking? Or used to fuck? Tash suddenly pulled back and looked at Bucky, interrupting his internal inquiry.

“You must be Bucky. You’re a brave little vanilla bean. I’m Tash.”

“Uh, hi,” he replied, accepting their handshake.

“Steve’s told me so much about you. He’s so happy you’re back home.”

Bucky tried to smile as best as he could, but it stung a bit to keep hearing how everyone knew about Bucky when he didn’t know about any of them. Even despite the years and the distance, he and Steve had texted regularly and had talked on the phone every month or two. How had he been so completely unaware of this part of Steve’s life?

Steve grabbed his arm and told Tash and Clint that he was going to show Bucky around. He gave him a tour of the space and introduced him to another dozen people, and Bucky knew he wasn’t going to remember half their names. It didn’t help that he couldn’t pay attention because he was in a Steve-shaped funk that he couldn’t seem to snap out of it.

Steve’s brows dipped in concern, and he squeezed his shoulder gently. “You alright, pal?”

And Bucky wanted to play it cool, but Steve always had a way of working through his defenses. “Uh…”

Steve tilted his head and then nodded. “Hey, let’s go in here.” He led Bucky to a door and grabbed his keys from his pocket to unlock it. Inside was an office with a computer, a sound system, filing cabinets, and a random assortment of stuff spilling out of a lost and found bin (_is that a blow up doll?_).

“What’s up? Is it too much?”

“No, just…” Bucky sighed. “Why does everyone call you Cap?” That wasn’t what he was planning on asking, but okay, mouth.

“Ah,” Steve said, smiling. “When I first got into the scene, I had a play partner, a total brat, who would say ‘aye-aye, Captain’ to me. It kind of stuck. And now it’s my username on Fet—Captain Brooklyn. Oh, um, Fetlife is a kinky social media.”

“I know what it is,” Bucky said sharply.

“Oh?” Steve asked and then shook his head. “We’re getting off topic. A nickname can’t be what’s bothering you, is it?”

“I feel like… you’ve built an entirely new life. Which you should have, right? I’m not faulting you that. But I didn’t know about any of it. Everyone and their brother knows who I am, but you’ve never told me about any of your friends. It’s hard to come back after Becca, after all of these years, and feel... so cut off from you? I don’t know. I know it’s dumb.”

“Oh, Buck.” Steve reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I didn’t tell you about any of this because it felt so trivial and out of place with everything going on with Becca. I just tried to focus on you when we talked, help you out like you helped me when I lost Mom. That’s all.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, his voice wavering without his consent. Emotions were dumb.

“Of course, Bucky.” Steve pulled him into his arms and held him tightly. “I can give you a detailed timeline of everything that’s happened since you left if it’ll make you feel better.”

Bucky laughed. “Nah, that’s alright. Maybe… maybe just the important stuff?”

Steve pulled away and gave him a soft smile. “Sure, pal.”

*

The Vic filled up during the next hour. Pretty much all of the equipment was taken up by couples and moresomes engaging in play—spankings and floggings, hot wax dripping onto sensitive skin, bodies bound and lifted with rope. Steve had been right: it was a lot to take in.

Steve was talking to Sam and Okoye, who was the director of the club, about an art show he wanted to host at the Vic in December, and Bucky decided to explore a bit on his own while they talked shop. When he turned a corner, he saw Clint and Tash on floor mats, Clint tied up in rope with Tash’s boot pressed against his throat and their hand fisted in his hair. Bucky pressed himself against the wall, equal parts anxious and curious to see what would play out before him.

“Ask me nicely,” Tash said.

“Please.” Clint’s voice was strained from the pressure of their boot.

“Uh-uh,” they shook their head. Tash’s face was hard, stern. Kind of terrifying, actually. “Not nice enough.”

“Please, daddy, please. I’ll be good.”

_Jesus_. Bucky’s heart was suddenly pounding in his chest.

“You promise, baby?”

Clint nodded minutely.

Tash yanked on his hair and Clint howled. “Speak when I ask you a question.”

“Yes, daddy. I promise.”

It felt too intimate, like Bucky was watching something secret and private from 10 feet away like the biggest pervert alive, but here they were, doing their thing for the whole club to see.

Bucky was—let’s be honest—Bucky was maybe getting a little hard watching this whole thing go down, but then Tash removed their boot, pulled their panties to the side, and straddled Clint’s face, and holy _fuck_, he needed some fresh air immediately or he’d never get through this night.

He headed back downstairs and into the warm night, taking several deep breaths once his back hit the brick wall. He was resolutely trying not to think about what he just saw in order to will his erection away, but at the same time, it seemed like he just learned something about himself. Because that was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He was out there for 15 to 20 minutes, lost in a litany of _oh, god, what the fuck does this mean_ until his phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Steve asking where he was. So Bucky took another deep, deep breath and then headed back inside to find him up on the mezzanine.

“Hey! I was scared you’d gone back home.” Steve was sitting next to a girl with pale skin and long black hair with bangs. She was in a lilac linen dress with bell sleeves, and her bare toes peeked out from under the hem. Steve was shirtless now, and the track lights overhead caught on the silver of his nipple rings. His entire chest and torso were now sparkly and shimmery, and he looked… _pretty_.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, and oops, he must’ve lost himself in his own head for a second.

“I’m, uh, I’m fine. I just needed some fresh air.”

Steve smiled. “Good. This is Kate, Clint’s other partner. We’re just waiting for him and Tash to finish and then we’ll do our performance.”

Bucky and Kate said hi and then he walked over to the railing. He probably shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from searching for Clint and Tash. His gaze found them still on the mats, with Clint now untied and his head in Tash’s lap. They were brushing their fingers through his hair, and Clint had the biggest, dopiest grin on his face. Clint’s eyes were closed, but when he opened them, he looked up at Tash, and the smile they shared together was so soft and warm, a jarring juxtaposition to what he had just witnessed 30 minutes ago. It made Bucky’s chest flutter.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” he heard Steve say behind him before joining Bucky at the railing.

“Now they are. Tash was fuckin’ terrifying half an hour ago.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, they’re pretty scary. But someone’s got to keep Clint in line.” Then Steve turned his head to look at him. “Still doing okay?”

Bucky wanted to say _well, I just watched a very intense scene between two people I barely know and it’s awakened some very strange feelings inside that I’m not sure how to deal with so I’m minutely freaking out_, but he just nodded and gave the best grin he could muster.

Steve raised one eyebrow but didn’t push him any further.

“Well, this is the one part of the night I can’t help you out to take you home. But Tash has agreed to sit with you during the performance, so they’ll keep an eye on you if you need it.”

“Alright.”

A few minutes later, Clint and Tash meandered up to the mezzanine after cleaning up, and Clint’s face lit up when he saw Kate walking toward him.

“Hey, girly-girl,” Clint said, and then swooped her up into his arms and gave her a loud, and probably wet, kiss on the cheek. “You look gorgeous.”

“Ugh, put me down,” she said with mock disgust, but her grin gave her away.

“Nope,” he replied. “I’m in charge tonight.”

“If you kids are ready,” Steve interrupted.

“Hey,” Clint said to Steve, putting Kate down. “You got all shiny. I wanna be shiny.”

“Oh my god,” Kate said, rolling her eyes.

“What? He looks awesome!”

“Come on,” Steve said, and he, Clint, and Kate headed downstairs to get ready and Bucky was left alone with Tash. There was a suspension rig roped off in the middle of the room downstairs, where Bucky assumed the performance would take place. He could see it perfectly from where they were standing so he turned to ask Tash if they wanted to watch it up here.

“Nah, let’s get closer,” they responded. “Steve’s a little shit when he’s a top, and it’s fun to listen to.”

Okay. Bucky knew that Steve would be doing some sort of performance, but he didn’t really think about what that would _mean_. Would he be watching something akin to what he had just seen between Tash and Clint? Because he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle seeing Steven Grant Rogers, best friend since grade school, in that sort of situation. His mind started to whirl with a dozen uncomfortable scenarios, each of them worse than the previous in one way or another.

“Hey, you alright?” Tash asked with a frown once they found a seat near the rig.

“Yep,” Bucky said, cursing how panicked he sounded.

“Bucky,” Tash said. “Is it alright if I hold your hand?” Bucky nodded. They reached for his hand, entwining their fingers together. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I can take you home right now if you’d like. You don’t have to do or see anything you’re uncomfortable—”

“Bucky!” Sam interrupted suddenly, coming up behind them. “How are you holding up?”

And Bucky was just about to take Tash up on that offer to go home until this nuisance showed up, reminding him why he came here in the first place. He could do this. He could handle it. He could find a place for himself in Steve’s new life. “Fine. Having a great time.”

“Great!” Sam responded, white teeth gleaming behind his grin. Why was he so damn chipper all the time? The worst part was that it seemed completely genuine. Sam said hi to Tash and then sauntered off to find his own seat.

Tash squeezed his hand. “Bucky. I still stand by what I said. I can take you home.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m—I’m curious. I’m just. Nervous.” He tried to smile but it felt forced.

“Alright.” They looked upward, as if in thought. “Do you find physical touch comforting?”

_Yes_. He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to hold your hand for the whole performance for as long as you want, alright? But you can let go at any time.”

Bucky softened at that, felt his insides unravel, even if only by the smallest increment. It was almost difficult to believe that the Tash he saw with a boot to Clint’s throat 30 minutes ago was the same person offering to hold hands with a stranger just to comfort him.

“Thank you,” he responded, giving their hand a squeeze, and they responded with a smile.

The music suddenly faded out and was replaced by a pounding base and catchy rhythm, and Steve, Kate, and a now sparkly Clint stepped forward together. Kate stepped to the middle of the rig and Steve and Clint each knelt in front of a pile of rope at opposite sides of the frame.

“Would you like commentary?” Tash asked.

“Uh, yeah actually,” Bucky replied.

Clint grabbed a length of rope that was coiled and bound together and put it in Kate’s hand. “That little bundle is a hank of rope,” Tash said. Clint stepped behind Kate and leaned to whisper something in her ear. She nodded to him, and he wrapped his arms around her before slowly moving his hands down the front of her body, pressing her solidly against him. She leaned into the touch, her head falling back to Clint’s shoulder. Then he placed one hand at her throat and used the other to tug down the top of her dress, freeing both of her breasts as he did so. She gasped, whether it was because of the cool air on her nipples or at being undressed in such a manner, Bucky didn’t know.

Clint grabbed the hank from Kate’s hand and unfurled it, keeping his fingers at the original loop so that the rope was doubled up. Then he started wrapping it under her breasts. As soon as he started, Steve came to the center and knelt down in front of Kate. He grabbed the bottom of her dress and ripped it open all the way to her hip, exposing the soft, pale flesh of her thigh. Then he loosened his own hank and began to wrap it at her hip.

Bucky’s eyes moved back to Clint, who now had horizontal lines of rope above and below Kate’s chest and was grabbing another hank to tie on to the back. He slung the rope over one shoulder, twisted it in the front between her breasts, and brought it back up the other shoulder, before tying it in the back. Then he roughly grabbed Kate by her hair, and she groaned as he bent her body forward.

“Clint is tying a cupcake harness,” Tash whispered. “He’s leaning her over because it’s the best way to wrap the rope around her breasts.” Clint grabbed a single strand of rope this time before taking one of her breasts in his hand and wrapping very, very tightly around one before doing the same to the other. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back to a standing position, and Bucky could see that her breasts were now taut in their circlings of rope, the skin stretched like a drum, already turning purple from the vice of the bindings.

“Does that hurt?” Bucky whispered.

“Not too badly on its own,” Tash replied. “It’s what you do afterwards that makes it fun.” He could _hear_ the evil in their voice. Terrifying.

Steve had finished the rope at Kate’s hips and pulled the dress aside where he’d ripped it to run a line of rope snuggly against her crotch.

_Oh._ Bucky squirmed in his seat.

Steve bound her hands behind her back while Clint began to attach lines of rope to various ties on her body before linking them to the metal ring above her or to the sides of the rig itself. Steve dug his index finger under the tight lines binding one of Kate’s breasts before replacing it with rope, tying it off, and yanking on it tightly. Kate cried out as he did so, and he kept the tension before knotting the other end of the rope to the rig.

“Aww, does that hurt?” Steve asked with a pout. She groaned but didn’t say anything, and he pulled even harder on the rope before smacking her breast, eliciting a gasp. “How about now?”

“Ugh, yes,” she responded breathily.

Steve laughed and circled behind her while Clint tied one of her legs to the opposite side of the rig in what looked to be a pretty uncomfortable angle. “This is where things get interesting,” Tash said. “See, they’re creating a predicament.”

Steve grabbed the upline tied to Kate’s back, dropped to the ground on his back and pulled so that she was forced to stand on the tip toes of one foot. Then he grabbed the rope at her crotch and tied that to the ring as well, wrenching her hips backward. “She can relieve the foot she’s standing on by letting herself be fully suspended by the rope, but that’s going to create a whole bunch of fun-not-fun in her nether regions. She can relieve the tension on her breast, but that would mean an even more uncomfortable position for the leg that’s tied up.”

Now that she was in this position, Bucky could see the bigger picture, the beauty of it—a spider’s web of tension and pain and balance. There was an ingenuity to the fact that she was in charge of deciding which parts of her body would receive mercy at the expense of the others. And Kate herself was a vision, her soft purple gown draping gracefully against her body, a pretty picture in contrast to the stress and pain written on her face.

“How you doing, girly?” Clint asked. Her body was trembling, and even from here, Bucky could see the stress her toes were under to hold herself up.

But she smiled at him despite all of that, her eyes half-lidded, her face flushed. “I’m good.”

“So you’re ready for more?” Steve asked. She nodded. Steve picked up a riding crop from the ground. “Let’s see how much longer you can stand on those tippy toes, Hawkeye.” And then he raised the crop and hit the inside of her thigh with a loud _thwack_, which echoed around them. She cried out, but stayed steady. Steve hit her again, and again, her voice rising in pitch and volume each time. “Come on, sugar, you know you want to give in.”

Bucky’s stomach fluttered at the term of endearment. He’d never heard Steve say something like that to someone.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You sure?” Clint interjected, embracing her from behind.

Bucky realized that he was so enraptured, so on edge, that he was gripping Tash’s hand in a vice. He loosened his hold, but didn’t let go.

“You’re not making me, boss-man.”

“You hear that, Cap?” Clint asked.

“Mmm, a challenge,” Steve responded, and _god_, the smirk on his face was unreal. He reached over to the side for another hank of rope and tied it tightly right below her knee.

“Oh, fuck,” Kate whispered.

Clint laughed. “Yep, your favorite.”

Steve pulled the rope taut and then wrapped her calf like a vice, over and over down her leg in a spiral and then crossing back up. It looked perfectly innocent, really. It was tight, sure, but it didn’t look anything like the purple of her breasts.

“That’s a calf torture tie,” Tash said. “It hurts like a bitch.” Oh. So much for perfectly innocent.

She was already whimpering before Steve used the remaining length of rope for leverage, pulling it tightly and then digging the heel of his boot against her shin. She cried out, her knee almost buckling. Steve laughed. “Still feelin’ tough?”

She groaned. “Fuck off, Cap.”

Then Steve and Clint looked at each other over Kate’s shoulder.

“Oh, girly,” Clint said in mock concern, and Steve tsk’d, tying off the rope on her leg. Clint smacked both of her breasts simultaneously, and she yelled out in response. Bucky looked over to Steve, his heart damn near in his throat at this point, and saw that he was holding a thin stick made of light wood.

“Oh, Kate _hates_ canes,” Tash whispered. Bucky swallowed. Then Steve rapped the cane against the top of her foot, his brows drawn together in focus. She jumped forward with a shriek, almost falling into suspension, but she stayed steady.

“She’s a fucking trooper,” Bucky whispered in awe. Her entire body was trembling with exertion.

“Yeah, Clint doesn’t like ‘em easy.”

Clint and Steve looked at each other again and nodded. And then two things happened simultaneously, Steve rapped her foot once more with a powerful blow, and Clint twisted both of her purpled nipples. She _screamed_ and fell forward, caught only by the rope between her legs. She sobbed, tears streaking down her face. Steve stepped back and Clint fell to his knees in front of her pushing her hair back, hushing her softly.

“That’s it,” Clint said. “You did so well, Katie-bird.” Her body was wracked with heaving sobs. She hung there for several moments, lost in the pain, before Clint finally untied the knot on her calf and Steve made quick work of the uplines. He slowly lowered her to her knees. Her arms were still tied behind her, but Clint enveloped her in his embrace.

Steve knelt in front of them and brushed the hair away from her face as her sobs quieted. “You okay, honey?” His voice was soft now, kind. She nodded. “Think you can stand up so we can give everyone a little bow?” She nodded again, and Steve stood and pulled her up gently before the three of them bowed.

Bucky heard clapping around him, but his hand was still clasped tightly with Tash’s, and he was too dazed to let go and join in. He was still watching them as they returned to the ground to untie Kate, her body soft and pliant against Clint as Steve’s fingers moved deftly to remove the bindings.

Tash squeezed his hand. “Are you alright?” they asked, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” he let go of their hand and finally forced his eyes away to smile at Tash. “Um, thank you for the commentary, and the, uh, literal hand-holding.”

“Sure. You did great!”

“Thanks,” he responded.

A few minutes later found Bucky surrounded by most of Steve’s friends, all of whom wanted to go out to a diner for a late-night breakfast.

“You want to come along, Bucky?” Sam asked.

“Um, no. I’m actually pretty wiped. Just want to go home and crash.”

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, touching his arm.

“Yeah, perfect,” he responded with the best smile he could muster.

*

Bucky really did plan to go home and go to sleep but his mind wouldn’t shut off long enough for him to do so. He kept replaying the night over and over again, his chest squeezing tighter and tighter until it almost felt hard to breathe. Everything had all been so goddamn overwhelming, and he had no idea how to process it.

There was an uncomfortable pit in his chest that he couldn’t name, growing and gnawing as the minutes passed. At some point he realized that he was beginning to dread Steve coming home and crawling into their shared bed. Surely things between them hadn’t changed, right? He’d known that this was what Steve did, not only for a living but for fun too. But now his memories kept zeroing in on the deftness of his fingers against the rope, the devilishness of his smile while teasing Kate, the intensity of his gaze while causing her pain—and _why wouldn’t his brain just shut up?!_

He got up, went to the bathroom, and pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed after Becca’s death, the result of countless restless nights filled with grief and sorrow and hopelessness. He swallowed one, dry, before turning out the light and heading back to the bedroom.

When Steve finally got home around 3 a.m., Bucky ignored his whispered, “you awake?” in favor of feigning sleep. Steve fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, completely unaware of Bucky’s internal meltdown as they lay side-by-side in the same bed.

*

Despite the sleeping pill, he was still awake before Steve. Sunlight was peeking in through the curtain edge, falling over Steve’s hair, illuminating its soft, golden threads. Steve’s hair had always been beautiful, the color of sweet honey right off the comb. Bucky found himself with a sudden... yearning to reach out and touch it, to brush through the silky strands, to rub his fingertips over the freshly buzzed undercut, and—oh. _Oh_.

That was a new development.

He took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling. Maybe last night’s panic was only 30 percent due to what he’d seen and 70 percent due to who he’d seen doing it. Did that mean… did that mean he wanted to do those things with Steve? Did he want even more from him? He sighed and turned back over to face him again.

Even in sleep Steve was a fighter. If he wasn’t kicking and flailing (Bucky had a lifetime of bruises to prove it), his brows would knit together, no doubt arguing some fool under the table in his dreams. Bucky’s eyes roamed over his tensed face, cataloguing its changes over the years — thicker brows, fuller cheeks — and he ached to trail the the tips of his fingers against the line of his jaw and along the cushion of his lips.

Yeah. It seemed he wanted a lot of things from Steve.

Steve’s eyes suddenly opened and caught him mid-realization. “You watchin’ me, weirdo?” he slurred sleepily, before closing his eyes again and flipping over to his stomach, his face still turned toward Bucky.

“Yup,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “A regular Edward Cullen.”

“Wha?”

Bucky shrugged. “_Twilight_.”

Steve cracked open one eye. “The fuck you know about _Twilight_?”

“Becca,” he said. Because she’d been as obsessed with _Twilight_ as every other pre-teen girl and had still watched those blasted movies repeatedly years later during endless chemo sessions.

“Oh,” Steve whispered, and then the silence of grief and sympathy that happened when someone accidentally brought up the recently deceased expanded between them like a chasm, gaping and uncomfortable. But then Steve reached out and put a warm hand on his shoulder. “You were a good brother, Bucky. She was so lucky to have you.”

Bucky smiled around the lump in his throat, unable to say a word because then the waterworks would start.

“Hey, uh, how was last night?” Steve asked, turning back onto his side. He was probably trying to take Bucky’s mind off of Becca, but fuck, he didn’t want his mind going there either.

“It was—” _terrifying, mind-altering, so goddamn hot_ “—a lot to take in.”

Steve nodded, his face growing serious. “Sam shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“No, it was…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue. Then, “I liked Tash a lot. They explained everything that was happening during your performance. Which, by the way, was—I mean—I’m guessing it was great. I have no idea what I’m talking about but I thought it was—” _enrapturing_ “—good.”

Steve rolled his eyes and grinned. “High praise, I guess. And yeah, Tash means the world to me. They’re one of the people I got closest to when you left.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Are you dating? Or used to?”

“Oh,” Steve huffed a laugh. “No. I mean, we’ve had sex a couple of times but that was years ago. They’re obviously gorgeous, but we don’t really” he brought his hands together, bridging his fingers, “mesh sexually.”

Bucky didn’t really know how to respond to that, but then Steve saved him from having to come up with something. “What are your plans for the day? I’m meeting a client at 6, but we could make pancakes and rewatch Cowboy Bebop like our high school days?”

Bucky grinned. “Aw, remember when I used to call you Ed?”

“Ah, fuck. How could I forget?”

“Skinny and weird, just like you were.” His eyes roamed up and down Steve’s body, narrowing in appraisal. “Are.”

Steve shoved him. “Fuck off, Barnes.”

*

Watching the performance had left him forever changed. Steve had no idea, treating Bucky exactly as he always had, going about his day-to-day life as if Bucky weren’t suddenly mad with lust for him. As if it were perfectly normal to crawl into bed next to his best friend and not want so deeply in his bones that it was hard to sleep. Steve still played video games with him, he still stole his beer, he still argued with him over shit that happened 15 years ago, all while Bucky simmered in his misery.

When he was on his own, his mind would fixate, a hungry dog sucking the marrow off a bone. He lasted three days until he opened up his laptop and fell down a rabbit hole of BDSM porn, coming so quickly once he finally touched himself that it was frankly embarrassing. Then Steve came home that night with mussed hair and kiss-swollen lips from whatever client he’d seen that day, and Bucky’s belly _ached_ with deep-seated want, wishing so desperately for something he could never ask for.

He lasted another two days before giving in and snooping around for Steve’s Fetlife account. He had to create his own account to do so (hello, _curious_buck_), and then he put Steve’s username into the search bar.

And there he was:  
_captain-brooklyn, M, Dom_  
_New York City, NY_

Bucky hesitated for two moments, wondering if this was some sort of invasion of privacy, before deciding that Steve was the one who put it on the internet. So he clicked.

> **I’m Steve. Or Cap if ya feeling nasty.**
> 
> **All Work**  
_I’m a sadistic, and sometimes playful, pro-dom in this little town we call New York City. I’m well versed in bondage and a few hundred ways to cause pain but, for me, these are means to an end: the exchange of power between two human beings._
> 
> _I book sessions with folks of all genders, sizes, ages, abilities, and sexual orientations. While I do book one-time sessions, it’s better for both of us to consider any arrangement to be a long-term venture. The deeper the level of trust and connection, the better the exchange will be._
> 
> **And All Play**  
_I help keep the gears running at The Victorian, my home away from home. There you’ll find me teaching or facilitating or just having fun on my own time. Right now, I’m keeping my private and professional lives separate and am only playing with friends during dungeon nights at The Vic._
> 
> **Makes Cap a Happy Human**  
_In the vanilla world, I’m an artist who’s into most of the nerdy shit you are: hobbits and wizards and dragons (oh, my!). Russian_Doll says I should tell you that I’m a Gryffindor. And a Cancer. The first one is true, but I have no idea what the second one means. _
> 
> **You can fuck right off if you’re a**  
_SWERF, TERF, or Trump supporter._

There were photos, and Bucky bit his lip, his hand hovering hesitantly over the trackpad before ultimately giving in to click on them. He didn’t really know what to expect, but if he’d hoped for anything overtly pornographic, there wasn’t any at first. There were many rope images, most of which didn’t even picture Steve since he was the one who had tied the models. He went through dozens of these, and right when he was about to close out, he clicked _next_ and suddenly felt his breath escape his body. The photo was of a man on his knees, naked and bound, his cock flushed and hard between his legs. Steve was standing over him, his index finger lifting up the man’s chin and his thumb digging into his bottom lip. Steve was shirtless, black leather pants slung low on his hips, and his skin was dewy with sweat. But the _power_ he exuded with just that one thumb against this nameless man’s mouth while a soft smile tugged at his lips was _overwhelming_, even in a two-dimensional photograph.

Bucky took a shuddering breath and closed his laptop. He rubbed his hands briskly over his face, his gut twisting with what he had seen. What was he doing? What did he really want from this? This was _Steve_, his best friend; flesh and blood and not some dominant fantasy on a pedestal.

He had to get his shit together.

*

Steve texted that afternoon that he wouldn’t be home until late. _Last-minute schedule change with a client_. So Bucky and Clint ordered Chinese food and watched _Blade Runner_ and smoked a bowl. There were only 10 minutes left in the movie when Steve came in and headed straight toward the shower. Bucky had already switched off the TV by the time Steve came back out in pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt. Clint got up to take out Lucky, and Steve stole his spot on the couch before snatching his veggie lo mein.

“Hey,” Bucky said. “That’s mine.”

“Snooze, ya lose, Bucko,” Steve replied as he took a very large bite of noodles. Bucky giggled and Steve raised one eyebrow in response. “You’re high.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I have a working nose,” he said, pointing to it, “and you’re giggling like an idiot.”

Bucky shrugged and smiled. “Touché.”

Steve got up to get a beer and Clint came back with Lucky, shuffling him into his bedroom before saying goodnight.

“I talked to Okoye today. We finally agreed to a date for the art show. December 14.” The Vic had never put on something like that before, so it was a huge testament of Okoye’s faith in Steve to take on such a venture. He’d been talking about it nonstop since the anniversary event.

“Dude, that’s great.”

Steve grinned. “I’m fucking pumped.”

“How’d your night go?” Bucky asked when Steve sat back down. He stretched out and put his feet in Bucky’s lap.

“Oh, fine,” Steve said and took a sip of his beer.

“Just fine?” He asked. “Was it fun?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed before he answered. “Yeah, it was fun. It’s always fun to play with this client, which is why I don’t mind if her schedule gets wonky at times.”

“What was it like? What did you do?” And _what the fuck, James Barnes?_ His mouth was running away from him and he wanted it to stop immediately.

“Uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “well I don’t like to share specific information about my clients.”

Bucky nodded. “Right. Dom-patient privilege.”

Steve’s head kicked back in laughter. “They’re not patients, dumbass.” He dug his left heel into Bucky’s leg. “I just have to be discreet in this line of work.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Bucky said and then reached over to steal Steve’s beer from his hand and take a drink. “Can you, uh,” he swallowed, “describe things in general terms?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess. What do you wanna know?”

“What’s it like? What do you… get out of it?”

“Other than money?” Steve asked and Bucky nodded. “Well, if it’s good, if there’s a connection there… at the most basic level, it’s fun. It’s… a rush. Endorphins, adrenaline. If it’s deeper, if there’s trust,” he paused for a moment, looking upward in thought. “Someone is giving themselves to you completely. And in exchange, you give them what they need, what they crave. It’s… heady. There’s nothing else like it.” Steve’s voice turned wistfully soft at the end, almost a whisper, and Bucky felt his skin prickle with want, his gut aching to know more, to experience it himself.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, almost inaudible.

“Yeah?”

He took a breath, trying to muster up the courage to ask Steve for what he wanted so goddamn badly. “What if—”

And then Clint yanked the door open and barged into the room. “Shit, I think something’s wrong with Lucky.”

Steve jumped up from the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s throwing up and, Christ, I’m high as fuck right now, so I can’t really tell if it’s normal or if it’s serious.”

“Alright,” Steve replied, and walked over to Clint’s bedroom. “Bucky, will you get some stuff to clean up?”

Bucky nodded, his own head reeling, and walked to the kitchen to get paper towels and cleaning spray. When he entered Clint’s room, Steve was kneeling on the floor, petting Lucky, looking him over, all while his tail was wagging like no tomorrow.

“He doesn’t seem too sick, Clint,” Steve said. “Must’ve just had an upset stomach. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Clint’s body sagged in relief, then he grabbed the cleaning stuff from Bucky. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Alright. Thanks, Steve. I panicked for a sec there.”

“Of course,” Steve said. “You’re probably just feeding him too much human food again.”

“Uh, I don’t have any idea what you mean, Cap.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure. Do you need help?”

“Nah, I got it,” Clint replied.

Steve nodded and left the room, so Bucky followed behind. Steve sat back down on the couch and picked up the carton of lo mein to resume eating. He looked at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky could join him, they could pick the conversation back up where they’d left off, he could ask Steve the question he really wanted to ask. But the moment felt over now, the bubble burst, faded into nothingness the moment Clint opened the door.

“I’m tired,” he said instead. “I think I’m going to turn in.”

“Oh, alright,” Steve said, smiling softly. “Good night, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pop culture references:**  
Original Hamilton lyrics: Nothing like summer in the city, someone in a rush meeting someone lookin’ pretty  
Twilight: Edward Cullen is an effing creeper who watches Bella sleep. O.O  
Cowboy Bebop: Ed is a very skinny and quirky character.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if I… wanted to do this?” he asked, his eyes hesitantly meeting Steve’s.
> 
> “This?”
> 
> “_This_,” he responded, gesturing to the literal sex dungeon around them.
> 
> “_Oh_. Oh. Wow, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 2 kinks**  
rope bondage, sadomasochism, impact, spanking, reprimands, praise kink, dacryphilia, hair-pulling, subspace. Please let me know if I've missed something that should be tagged.

_You were a vision in the morning when the light came through_  
_I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you_  
Halsey, 'Colors'

School started before Bucky knew it, and it was difficult to get back into the life of a full-time student. He had finished his bachelor’s degree part-time while helping to take care of Becca, so it’d been years since he’d been in the full swing of things. Plus, now he also had to juggle TA duties for Dr. Bishop, so Bucky came home every night, completely exhausted, crawling into bed the first moment he was able to do so. He’d hoped that the reading and homework and grading would mean that he’d have zero time to think about Steve’s extra curricular activities, but reality dashed those hopes upon the rocks. His thoughts returned to that photo of Steve and the nameless man so often that it was now carved into his mind, the edges blurring and softening until he began to see himself in the man’s place, on his knees, surrendering to Steve completely.

Steve continued to be oblivious to Bucky’s internal crisis and to be the annoying little shit he’d always been. On Bucky’s first day of class, he actually _packed him a lunch_ and stopped him at the door so he could take a dozen pictures to commemorate the day.

“Oh my god,” Bucky said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “This is dumb.”

Steve was still in his pajamas with messy hair, taking yet another photo with his phone from yet _another_ angle. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Jesus. I’m out. Bye!” And he escaped the apartment before Steve even had a chance to reply.

He was getting on the J train to connect to the F when his phone buzzed, alerting him that Steve had tagged him on Instagram. He opened the app and saw the photo of himself, mid eye-roll, his hair pulled into a bun, in the teal, floral button-down, dark jeans, and black Chucks he was currently wearing. Then his eyes flickered to the caption: _my baby’s first day of school_. It was obviously a joke, but the sudden image of Steve calling him _baby_ made his neck hot, his belly swooping low at the mere _thought_ of Steve whispering it in his ear.

But then he ended up with some fucker yelling in his ear instead because the train jostled him sideways, and really, the MTA always had a way of squashing your daydreams and bringing you back to reality.

*

The first week of classes ended and Bucky found himself at a Labor Day open-house cookout at The Vic. He wasn’t going to go—he’d thought it best to stay away until he could figure himself out—but Tash had come over one night and told him he should come and hang out.

“You’re such a darling,” Tash had said, sitting in Clint’s lap at the dining table. “I’d love to get to know you more. And it’s just a barbecue, no play.” They’d given him a soft smile with pretty, bright eyes, and _god_ how could anyone say no to that?

So he’d said yes and baked his grandma’s famous hummingbird cake, the same one she’d make every time they visited when he and Becca were kids. He set it carefully in his lap on the bus to Bed Stuy while Steve held onto the last-minute supplies they’d stopped for on the way. Steve was in a white tank top and cut-off shorts and looked every bit the image of the All-American Boy. With piercings and tattoos, of course.

Steve was the manager-on-duty for the event, so the building was completely empty when they arrived. He put Bucky to work right away — setting up the grill out back and readying tables for the impending spread of dishes. Bucky was pouring charcoal into the grill when Sam came outside with his easy, open smile.

“Hey, man. You’re back!” Sam said.

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad. I was a little worried that we scared you off.”

Bucky forced a laughed. “Nope, I’m still around.”

Sam smiled again. “Well, hey, I’m playing welcome host today since it’s an open house, but I’ll come say hi again later.”

“Sounds good.” _Can’t wait._

Sam walked off and Bucky drizzled lighter fluid over the charcoal.

“You don’t like Sam,” Tash said suddenly from behind, startling him. How were they so goddamn sneaky?

“What makes you say that?”

Tash came around to face him and plopped down in one of the camping chairs set up for the event. They were wearing cat-eye sunglasses and a cut-off t-shirt that said _Big Dildo Energy_. “I’m very good at reading people, little bean.”

He tilted his head in confusion until he remembered Tash calling him _little vanilla bean_ when they’d first met. “What, no vanilla this time?”

They shook their head with a knowing smile. “I think we both know that’s no longer the case.”

Bucky cleared his throat and looked down. “Uh, well. Just in theory.”

“You know, that theory could very easily become practice.”

“Uh,” he said again, really sounding like an idiot. “Do you mean with—” He pointed at Tash and then back to himself. Because no fucking way. They were terrifying.

They grinned, amused. “No, I’m a little too rough for newbies. But we both know someone who’s quite good with them.”

His gut twisted uncomfortably, and at that exact moment, Steve stepped outside with a giant bowl of potato salad.

“Hey, Tash. Okoye’s here with a ton of food if you want to come help.”

“Be right there. I’m going to kiss this boy’s cheek if he’ll let me.”

He nodded his permission and Tash stood up on tip-toes to reach him. “He’d say yes if you asked him,” they whispered, pressing their lips to his cheek before heading inside.

*

The cookout was actually pretty fun. There was so much food, and Bucky’s cake was so popular there wasn’t even a slice left to take home. He met lots of new people and played _What Do You Meme?_ with Sam, Okoye, Kate, and another newbie named Wanda. Okoye’s humor was so delightfully dark that she absolutely slaughtered all of them. Tash even gave him a thumbs-up when they saw that Bucky was trying to make nice with Sam.

But despite the overall good time, Tash’s words stayed tucked in the back of his mind, and his skin prickled every time Steve looked at him.

Would he really introduce Bucky to kink if he asked him? Could everything Bucky had fantasized about since the anniversary party be a reality?

When the afternoon was drifting to an end, they cleaned up and divvied up leftovers and headed upstairs to put things away. Once everything was finished, Bucky and Steve were the only ones left in the building, and the sudden stillness and proximity made his chest flutter nervously.

“I’m going to shut off everything in the office and then we can head home,” Steve said.

“K. I’ll just wait here.” Bucky sat down on a couch across the room. He bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cradling his face. His desire to pursue this with Steve was warring with anxious self-preservation and he wasn’t sure how to move forward.

“Hey, you alright?” Steve asked when he finished up a couple minutes later, sitting on the couch next to him.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, looking up. Steve tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief. Bucky took a deep breath. “Steve, I…”

“What is it?”

_He’d say yes if you asked him_. “What if I… wanted to do this?” He asked, his eyes hesitantly meeting Steve’s.

“This?”

“_This_,” he responded, gesturing to the literal sex dungeon around them.

“_Oh_. Oh. Wow, fuck.” Steve looked unsettled, unnerved. But then he bit his lip and narrowed his eyes, appraising him, sizing him up. It made Bucky want to squirm. “Well, I know of several people I could recommend to you to get you started, depending on what you’re interested in.”

“Wait, what?” Jesus, this boy was thick sometimes. “No. I mean with you.”

Steve’s eyes flashed in surprise and he shook his head. “Really?”

Had he screwed this up? “Uh, yeah, I mean. This all seems kinda scary and shit, but I’m interested. You know what you’re doing and I trust you. So.” He looked down. “I don’t know what your rate is and I won’t get paid until the end of the month, but I would like to schedule something once I can afford it.”

Steve said nothing for several moments and Bucky wanted to die as the silence stretched on, his gut churning, his mind informing him that _yes, James, you definitely screwed this up_. “Steve?” He finally asked with a whisper.

“Are you sure? This isn’t just… pressure from being here or hanging out with everyone?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sure. I’ve put thought into it.”

Steve’s eyes were unfocused, like he was lost in thought. Then he came back to himself and looked at Bucky with a nod. “Okay.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, voice flooded with relief and hope.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Um, how much?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not going to charge you, Bucky. I do this for fun too, you know.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to assume.”

Steve gave him a fond, half-quirked smile. “Honestly, I charge a lot of money to do what I do. Wouldn’t feel right to charge my best friend.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Bucky said. Suddenly Steve’s renovated apartment and newfound ease regarding money made a lot more sense. “So, uh, how does this work? Should we schedule something?” Bucky pulled out his phone to open up his calendar.

Steve stood up and motioned for Bucky to follow him. “Come here.” He opened up the door to a back stairwell and led him up a flight of stairs before pulling out his keys and unlocking the door. He motioned for Bucky to walk inside. “Step into my office.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you mean _now_?!”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, but only if you want to.”

Well, shit, no time like the present. No time to think of all of the ways it could go wrong if he just did it right the fuck now. “Alright,” he replied and then stepped inside.

It wasn’t a very large room, but it was big enough for several pieces of play equipment: a rig, a bench, a St. Andrew’s cross. There were two stained glass windows, and the colorful lights reflected on the opposite wall, casting the room in a warm glow. A couch was tucked into one corner, and there was a set of wood-paneled lockers in the other. Steve stepped over to unlock one of them before pulling out a duffle bag.

“Who uses the space?” Bucky asked.

“Mostly staff. It’s a timeshare situation. We pay a bit each month and share a calendar between us. This is where I meet a good number of my clients.”

Steve sat down on the couch. “Come sit with me,” he said. Bucky nodded and sat on the opposite side. “I’m assuming that this is your first time doing this.”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded.

“Okay. I’m going to ask you some questions about what you want to try, what interests you. If we decide to play again after today, it will be a little different. Today, and maybe the next time, will be an opt-in negotiation, while future play will be opt-out. Do you know what that means?” Bucky shook his head. “Opt-in means we’ll discuss the things you want to try and I will only do those things to you. Opt-out mean we’ll set limits and boundaries and as long as those limits aren’t crossed, most things are fair game. Either way, something I will never do will be to escalate the level of play that we’ve negotiated.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

“The most common example is escalating play by adding sex when sex was never negotiated. But it can be other things. Increasing the severity of impact, adding suspension when only ground rope was negotiated. Participating in kink opens your mind to an altered space, for both the top and bottom, but especially the bottom. Consent can get blurry. It’s just not smart to fuck with that mid-scene.”

“Okay.” Bucky’s head was swimming; he’d never thought about any of this. He just wanted to get on his knees and have Steve tell him what to do.

“What are you interested in?”

“Uh,” Bucky began, looking down at his hands like they’d give him the gumption to go on. “Well…”

“Would it help if I guided you?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Then close your eyes, Bucky,” Steve said. His voice was gentle but firm. Bucky did as he was told. “If any of this makes you uncomfortable, you just say so, and we’ll stop. Do you understand?”

Bucky nodded.

“I expect verbal answers. Say yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Good. You said you’ve put thought into this. What do you see when you think about it?”

Bucky swallowed. “I’m kneeling. And—” _you tell me what to do_ “—I’m being told what to do.”

“Be more specific.”

“I’m giving up control. I’m... at someone’s mercy.” His eyes were still closed, and he was imagining that picture for the thousandth time. “I’m tied up.”

“In rope?”

“Yeah. I think I want… pain? But I’m not sure. I’ve never experienced it.”

“What kind of pain? Spanking?” Steve asked and Bucky’s breath hitched at the thought of being over Steve’s knee, feeling Steve’s palm smack his bare ass. He heard the barest hint of a chuckle from Steve in response, so he opened his eyes to look at him. “I didn’t tell you to open your eyes, Bucky. If you want to be told what to do then I expect you to obey me.”

He shivered and closed them immediately. “Okay.”

“I also expect an apology when you do something wrong.”

Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry.” It was shocking to hear Steve like this, so sure and in control. He was good. No wonder people paid him to take them apart.

“It’s okay. You’re learning. And we’re still negotiating. I’m just letting you know my own boundaries and expectations as well. But go ahead. Are you interested in spanking? Impact in general?”

“Yes. To both.”

“Rope can be used to cause pain, too. Does that interest you?” His mind flashed to Kate bound in rope, her face a mixture of agony and pleasure.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Alright. Is there anything else you’re interested in doing today?”

Sometimes, _sometimes_ Bucky’s mind would let these fantasies turn sexual, morphing the porn he’d been watching into what it could be like with the man before him now—Steve fucking his mouth, Steve edging him and making him beg to come. But he had to live with this guy, he had to sleep next to him every night. If he let his mind live there, he’d drive himself crazy. And even thought he wanted, even though he craved, he couldn’t handle Steve rejecting him in that way. Play was one thing, sex… Sex was another.

“No,” he answered.

“Okay,” Steve replied. “You can open your eyes now.” Steve was still sitting next to him, leaning toward him casually but intently. He smiled softly. “You did well. We have a lot to work with for our first time.” Bucky smiled in response. “Okay, a few more things.”

“Alright.”

“I tend to use pet names unless my bottom doesn’t like it or it’s a humiliation scene. I can be mean as fuck, but I soothe it over with praise. If you don’t like any of that, or anything else that we do, you tell me. I follow yellow and red safe words: yellow to slow down and reevaluate. Red to stop. However, the first time playing, unless the bottom negotiates otherwise, I will quit when they say stop or no or anything like that. That especially goes for you since this is your first time ever. Is that okay?”

Bucky nodded and then remembered he was supposed to speak. “Yes.”

“Aftercare is mandatory. Always. Even if you feel like you don’t need it, I almost always do.”

“Really?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. It, I mean, you know I’m not religious, but it almost... resets a karmic balance. If I just did a lot of harm to your body and mind then that needs to be righted. For me, that means cuddling, hair petting, talking, hydration. Does that work for you?”

_Cuddling? Oh._ “Yes.”

Steve looked upward in thought before continuing. “I can get embarrassingly poetic about power exchange, and I’ll spare you. But I want you to remember that this is a give-and-take between both of us. You are giving me control, but you can take it back at any moment. No matter what. To use your own words, you’ll be at my mercy, but only because you want to be.” He smiled again and stood up. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, stand up and walk over to the mats.”

Bucky followed his orders. “Should I, uh, get undressed?”

“That’s up to your comfort level. I would recommend at least taking off your jeans. Rope and denim aren’t fun. And it will be more difficult to feel any impact.”

Bucky nodded and removed his shoes and pants. Then he shrugged and took off his shirt too, assuming that he’d probably like to feel the rope directly on his skin.

“Is it alright if I pull your hair?,” Steve asked. “I should’ve asked that earlier.”

Oh, he’d always liked his hair pulled. He nodded emphatically. “Yeah.”

"Alright." Steve pulled his bag over and began to take out rope and a few implements he recognized from the performance, the cane, the crop, and a leather implement he hadn’t seen before. Steve began to speak without looking at him. “Any time you remove clothes for a scene with me, I expect you to fold them and put them on the chair in the corner. My dungeon is not a pigsty.”

Bucky laughed; it sounded harsh against the quiet room, but he couldn’t help it. He’d known Steve his whole goddamn life; the dude was a mess.

Steve turned and raised a single eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

Bucky cleared his throat, and schooled his face as best as he could. “Uh, no.” Actually, that reminded him. “Should I call you ‘sir’ or something?”

“No. Not yet.” He turned around and stood up. “You still haven’t folded your clothes. I don’t give commands more than once, Bucky.”

Fuck. “Well, I’m doing great at this already,” he said bending down to grab his shirt and pants before standing back up and folding them.

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice softening. He stepped forward and gently grabbed Bucky’s chin, tilting his face downward to catch his gaze. “Don’t be hard on yourself. I’m setting expectations and boundaries. You’ll learn.” Bucky nodded and then Steve caressed his jaw with his thumb so softly that he found himself tilting his face into the touch just to feel it more prominently against his skin.

It was like Steve intrinsically knew what Bucky wanted, but he knew it even better than he did. Steve’s thumb applied more pressure on the next caress and then he was gripping his chin tightly, his fingers digging into his skin, pressing downward so forcefully that Bucky felt himself crouching down in response.

“Kneel,” Steve said, his voice as hard as steel, a jarring change from the softness it held just one moment ago. Bucky complied, falling to his knees on the soft mat beneath him.

Steve did not loosen his hold on Bucky’s chin but he did grin, pleased as punch, before looking him directly in the eye. “Good boy,” he whispered, and _oh, fuck_, that went straight to Bucky’s dick. He exhaled forcefully in response, barely stopping himself from whimpering. “Oh, someone likes that,” he responded, his smile becoming devious before he turned around.

Bucky’s clothes were still in his hands, and he held them awkwardly at his chest while Steve bent down to grab a hank of rope. “Put the clothes on the chair,” Steve said. “Without standing up.”

Bucky measured the distance between himself and the chair, and there was no way he could make it just by leaning over. So he shuffled on his knees, feeling a flush creep up his neck from… embarrassment? He wasn’t sure exactly, but his face was warm by the time he finished his task.

“Good,” Steve said backing up several steps. “Now crawl back to me.” An aching pit of discomfort suddenly formed in Bucky’s stomach. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to do it, it was because he _did_. This was real, this was happening. His childhood best friend just told him to crawl across the floor of his dungeon timeshare, and Bucky was about to do it, no questions asked. So Bucky took a shaky breath and looked up to meet Steve’s gaze. Then he slowly made his way across the room on his hands and knees, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, his gaze so piercing and intense that it was hard to breathe.

Each movement forward began to unravel something inside of his being, something so tightly wound around the very essence of himself that its undoing felt like a revelation. _Control_, he realized before finally stopping at Steve’s feet.

“Sit up,” Steve said. Bucky was reluctant. His dick was half-chubbed in his gray boxer briefs, and it would be noticeable as soon as he obeyed. But he didn’t want to make any more mistakes so he sat up, averting his eyes as he did so. “That’s it. Now,” Steve unfurled the hank of rope and knelt behind him. He didn’t seem to notice Bucky’s dick at all. Instead, he grabbed Bucky’s arms, bringing them behind his body. “If this starts to hurt your shoulder, let me know. If your wrists or hands start to tingle or get numb, let me know. I will check in, but you need to tell me if something goes wrong in the interim. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” As soon as the rope touched his skin, he closed his eyes, wanting to focus solely on how it felt. It was both soft and rough at the same time, obviously a natural fiber and not something man-made. Steve made quick work of binding his wrists together and then wrapping the rope around his arms tightly, his fingers periodically digging under the lines to readjust, making them flatter or tighter if needed. In less than three minutes, Steve was tightening the last knot, and Bucky was tied, bound, and completely at his mercy.

Steve stood up and brought over the toys he’d previously laid out. “Bend over,” he said, and Bucky bit his lip in response. His arms were bound, and he’d have nothing to lean against.

“How?”

“Hold yourself up or put your face on the mat. I don’t really care, Bucky.” His voice was aloof, detached, and _god_, why was that so hot?

He couldn’t bring himself to press his face to the mat, it felt like too much, too soon, like he was the living embodiment of that 2-Live Crew song. So he bent over, engaging his core to hold himself up. Steve grabbed his riding crop and walked around him in a slow circle like he was inspecting something for sale. It made Bucky squirm.

“Hmm,” Steve finally said before crowding behind him and landing the first blow on Bucky’s ass. Bucky was still wearing his underwear, but it still _hurt_, and he cried out in response. “Oh, that sounded fun. Let’s try it again.” Steve hit Bucky for a second time and a third, and small moans fell from his lips from each impact. Then Steve began to alternate the locations of the downswings, the intensity of each stroke, the rhythm in which he hit. Bucky was groaning or crying out each time the leather met his backside, completely unable to hold back.

He wasn’t sure how many times Steve had hit him when he heard the crop fall to the mat and felt Steve kneel at his side. He softly pressed his hand to Bucky’s back and rubbed him gently. “How’re you doing, Buck?”

“I’m good,” he mumbled, and wow, his voice was rough to his own ears.

He felt Steve’s fingers at his wrists. “Wrist and shoulders?” he asked.

“Fine.” His body was beginning to shake, though; it was becoming harder to hold himself in this position, and his face was already lower to the ground than it was several minutes ago.

“Great,” Steve said. He stayed on his knees next to Bucky, reached over for his next implement, and Bucky heard the sound it made through the air before it even hit the back of his thighs.

“_Fuck_,” he yelled, and his body gave in. His face fell to the mat, his cheek pressing against its soft surface, his ass fully in the air. That was the first time Steve had hit his bare skin, and wow, okay. That was a lot. “W-was that the cane?”

Steve chuckled. “Yup.” _Bastard_. “Why? You like it?” Then he landed another hit, driving Bucky’s body’s forward, his cheek digging harder into the mat. Bucky whimpered in response. It hurt. It hurt so goddamn badly, but… it was also whiting out his thoughts, quieting his mind. There was another blow, and then another and each one loosened his tether to the world around him until he simultaneously felt like he was floating toward the clouds and drifting underwater, everything warm and blue and heady.

“Steve,” he heard himself say, and fuck, was he crying? “Steve.”

“Yeah, honey. Are you okay?” Steve replied. There were hands at his back, trailing to his hands. Bucky nodded as best as he could against the mat. “You gotta tell me, Bucky.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“How are your wrists. Can you squeeze my hand?”

“F-fine.” He wrapped his hand around Steve’s and squeezed.

“Good.” Then Steve took his other fist and ground it into the raw, tender flesh of thighs. Bucky sobbed, deep and throaty, a sound he’d never heard come out of his own mouth. “Yeah,” Steve said softly, almost moaning, and it made Bucky shiver.

Bucky felt Steve’s hand in his hair and he yanked him backward forcefully, tugging on the strands with such delicious tension until he was upright again. Except then Bucky remembered that he was hard as a rock and Steve was going to see that in this position.

“_Stevie,_” he cried out in embarrassment, but he just sounded needy. Needy and wanton and desperate for more.

“Shhhh, I got ya.” Steve kept his hand in his hair, and used it to turn Bucky’s face toward him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.” Bucky would’ve burned a hole in the ground from mortification if Steve weren’t looking directly at his face as he said it. “Look at these pretty tears all for me.” His other hand came up and wiped the tears from one cheek. Bucky tilted his face into Steve’s palm, like a marigold seeking the sun.

“You’ve done so well, Bucky. I’d like to hit you five more times. Are you up for that?”

“Yeah,” he choked out. He was so floaty and warm that he’d do anything Steve wanted right now. He closed his eyes, though, not wanting to see Steve’s face when he would eventually see his very prominent erection.

“Okay. You need to count each one.”

He heard Steve pick up the cane again, except this time, because Bucky was kneeling upright, the toy came down on the tops of his thighs, so close to his crotch that there was no way Steve didn’t know that he was hard and aching. He cried out, taking several deep breaths to steady himself. This was so much worse than receiving hits to his backside.

“Bucky,” Steve reprimanded, his voice steely and cool.

“Fuck, _one_.” He’d already forgotten to count.

Steve’s hand was in his hair again, and he forcefully yanked his head back, tilting his face toward the ceiling.

“You made a mistake and didn’t apologize.”

Tears welled in his eyes again, spilling down his cheeks of their own accord. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have a lot of rules, Buck. I don’t. But you’ve got to follow them.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie! _Please_.” He didn’t want Steve upset with him. He wanted him to wipe away his tears again and tell him how good he was. He just wanted to be good for Steve.

Steve’s hand tightened in his hair. “If you’re sorry, then do it right this time. Starting again at one.” He kept his hand around Bucky’s hair as he continued the blows against Bucky’s thighs, one by one as Bucky kept count.

The fifth one was so brutal that Bucky lunged forward in an attempt to save his legs from the blow, but of course, it was already too late. He barely remembered to yell out “five” before he keeled over on his side and let his sobs ebb away.

Steve scooted toward him and ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “You were so good, sweetheart. Such a good boy. You did so well.” Bucky smiled, warmed by Steve’s sweet words and his hands in his hair. “Will you please sit up for me, Bucky? I’m going to untie you and then we can continue with our aftercare. Okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes.” It was an effort to sit up with his arms still bound; his abs were shaky and sore from earlier. Steve must have realized it and leaned over to help him. When he was upright again, Steve’s face was mere inches from his own, and he looked electric, _alive_. His hair curled from sweat gathering at his temple, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were clear, the brightest, most beautiful blue circling the black of his pupils.

He suddenly remembered his earlier fear—Steve seeing his arousal—and realized that Steve hadn’t said anything about it. Either he didn’t care or… or he liked it. Maybe he wanted him too. Maybe Bucky could just lean forward and k—

“Bucky.” Steve’s hand was at the nape of his neck, holding him in place, and Bucky realized he was already leaning forward, his mouth so close to Steve’s that he could feel his breath on his skin. Steve pulled back and gave him a small smile. “You’re high as a kite right now, and we didn’t negotiate that.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “How do you know?” he asked, but even he could tell that his words were slurred.

Steve smiled. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”

“Right,” Bucky replied. “Alexa, play ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine.” Was he flirting? Probably. He felt too out of it to care.

Steve laughed, loudly and heartily, and it made Bucky smile. ‘You’re an idiot. Now be quiet and let me untie you.” Steve knelt behind Bucky and began to loosen the knots in the rope.

“Is that an order?”

“You’re still in my dungeon aren’t you?” He unwound the ropes around his arms.

“Yeah. It’s nice to obey you.”

“And yet, you’re doing the exact opposite.”

“Mm, I’m sorry,” Bucky responded, remembering the rule. It was slightly true. Having an orgasm usually made him talkative. Apparently doing kinky shit made him blabber too.

Steve removed the ties binding his wrist, and Bucky brought his arms to his side, wincing as he did so. They felt noodly now, like they didn’t quite belong to him. Then Steve knelt in front of him and ran his hands up and down his arms, massaging them, giving Bucky a warm smile when their eyes met. When he finished, he leaned against the wall and pulled Bucky beside him, then draped his arm over his shoulder. His other hand carded through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of their bodies pressed together.

*

Bucky woke up the next morning groggy and sore, not wanting to go to class whatsoever. Steve was still asleep, not surprising since he kept weird hours, so Bucky crawled over him as carefully as he could to not wake him.

When they’d gotten home last night, Bucky was coming out of post-play haziness and had found himself to be ravenous. “Yeah, that’s normal,” Steve had said, and then he’d heated up leftovers for both of them, bringing them, and a beer, to Bucky after he’d changed into pajamas. After food, Steve had asked what he’d liked and what he hadn’t, then he warned him about drop and what it might look like.

“Was it good?” Bucky had asked.

“Huh?”

“The scene. Did you enjoy it? Or was it just—” a favor, an obligation to your ol’ pal, Bucky?

Steve had smiled, warm and lazy and soft. “Yeah, Buck. I did.”

Bucky had wanted to kiss him again, but he hadn’t.

Now Bucky was in the shower, and the hot water was stinging pinpricks against his legs and ass. When he looked down, his thighs were marked with welts and bruises. A quick look in the full-length mirror on the back of the door showed that his backside looked even worse, purple and blue, a galaxy of colors to remind him of what had transpired the day before. Drying off hurt too, the terrycloth abrasive against his skin, and he found himself patting himself dry to minimize the pain.

Bucky got dressed in the softest pants he owned and grabbed his laptop to throw into his backpack. When he opened the bag, there was a bottle of gatorade and a protein bar with a sticky note attached.

_In case you get droppy. Text me if you do._  
_S_

Bucky’s heart flip-flopped in his chest. It was so damn thoughtful that it took every ounce of self restraint to not run back to their bedroom and curl against him under the covers.

He was in deep, he realized. Really damn deep.

*

When Bucky got home that afternoon, Steve was hunched over his tablet on the couch, working on something or other for The Vic. He was in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, so he’d probably been home all day. Lucky was sprawled out next to him, barely lifting his head at Bucky’s presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up, his hair falling into his eyes. “Hey. How was your day?”

“Good. Was a little distracted at times, but good.”

“Oh?” His brows knitted together in concern.

“Um, well, I’m sore,” Bucky responded, his cheeks heating up as he said it. School desks were hardly comfortable when your ass and thighs were bruised to hell and back.

“_Oh_,” Steve said with a smirk. He put his tablet down on the coffee table. “Do you have marks?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “Could I see them?”

Bucky’s eyes flitted to the closed door of Clint’s room, unsure if he was home or not. “Maybe we should—?” he pointed his thumb at their room, and Steve nodded and stood up to follow him. Bucky took off his backpack and his shoes before unbuckling his belt and taking off his pants. He threw them on the bed and stood up fully, his stomach twisting with nervousness as it dawned on him that he just dropped trou in front of his best friend to show off his kinky bruises, and when the fuck had this become his life?

But then Steve made this noise—half awe, half appreciation—as his eyes raked over Bucky’s thighs. “Turn around,” Steve said, his voice deep, insistent. Bucky did as he was told, hearing Steve step closer as he did so. “You mark up so pretty, Buck.” He felt Steve right at his back, and he found himself holding his breath in anticipation. “You know, half the fun is poking and prodding once it’s all over. May I?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, surprised by the breathiness in his voice. Steve’s fingers trailed along the back of his right thigh, right under his ass before pinching the skin harshly. Bucky yelped. “Jesus!” Steve chuckled, the bastard, and turned slowly around Bucky’s body until he was facing him. Then he dug his knuckles into the largest bruise on his upper thigh. Bucky’s breath hitched and Steve looked up at him with a smirk, his eyes bright and mischievous. He was so close. His mouth was right there, pink and soft. It’d take nothing at all to do what he wanted to do so badly last night. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky swallowed. “Can I… can I ask for that kiss now?”

Steve’s lips parted and his eyes traveled to Bucky’s mouth. But then he frowned. “Really?”

Oh. Before Bucky had moved to North Carolina, he’d had no problem navigating the waters of flirting and dating and hookups. He was good looking with a soft gaze and a charming smile—at least that’s what he’d been told—and rejection wasn’t really something he’d been familiar with. Then dating had taken a back seat to juggling school and taking care of Becca, and he’d been lucky to scrounge up a couple of Tinder dates a year. So now he was out of practice, and he might very well have read Steve all wrong. “Uh. I mean. I’d like to. Unless you don’t want to. And then that’s totally cool too. So no pressure. I just—“

Suddenly, Steve’s hand covered Bucky’s mouth, silencing him. He held Bucky’s gaze with his own, his lips curling into a soft smile. “Bucky… I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

Bucky breathed in sharply. “Yeah?” Steve nodded and removed his hand. Then he stood on his tip toes and pressed their mouths together, gentle but hungry. He gasped again at the feel of Steve’s lips on his own, melting against him. Their arms came around one another, their bodies pressing together more tightly. Steve licked his tongue against his bottom lip and Bucky opened his mouth to it, slick and hot, and _god_, how were they just now doing this?

Steve’s hand reached up and twisted in his hair, tugging just enough to create delicious tension. “Stevie,” Bucky half-whispered, half-groaned against his lips and Steve pulled back to look at him, his face contemplative.

“You called me that last night too, you know.”

Bucky tilted his head in response; he hadn’t even realized he’d been saying it. “You mad about it?” he asked. Because last time Steve brought this up, he’d been 14 and angry, accusing Bucky of always babying him, shoving him away and insisting Bucky just call him Steve.

He licked his lips, gently tugging at Bucky’s hair. “No, I kind of like it. I—you asked about honorifics. If you wanted to continue things after last night, honestly the idea of you calling me sir is—” he crinkled his nose, “— weird. But that could be an alternative.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Steve nodded. “If you want. We can negotiate it further next time we play.”

Maybe _Stevie_ as an honorific should be weird too, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt private and intimate, tied to the very core of their history together. It made his stomach flutter in a not unpleasant sort of way. “Okay,” Bucky said, bringing his arms back around Steve’s waist. “Can we go back to kissing now?”

Steve smiled and pulled him down to meet his lips.

*

There was a lot more kissing after that.

A lot.

Too much, maybe.

Because the first time Bucky reached down to unbutton Steve’s jeans while kissing down the pale, slender column of his neck, Steve said, “There’s no rush.” And there was nothing wrong with kissing. Bucky loved it, in fact. So he nodded and they continued as they had been, hands above the waist like teenagers with purity rings, mouths slick and red and bruised.

Except, well, _just_ making out was quickly becoming the norm. Bucky would feel Steve’s dick against his hip, just as hot and hard under his sweats as Bucky’s was, and he’d wait for Steve to take the initiative to move things forward, but he never would. They were close to 30 years old and were completely neglecting the perfectly good cocks both of them had _right there_. He didn’t really get it; was Steve being a cocktease in some sort of display of dominance? Probably; Steve was an asshole like that.

So Bucky was going crazy with want, jerking off in the shower every morning and any chance he had the bedroom to himself. He’d imagine Steve’s mouth on his cock, Steve holding him down and fucking him, Steve tying him up and teasing him until he begged for release. The whole situation was just so... weird. If you’d have told Bucky three months earlier that he’d catch feelings for his best friend and that said best friend would then tie him up and cane him and then refuse to do anything else beyond kissing him? Well, he certainly wouldn’t have believed any of it, but he especially wouldn’t believe the last part because it just didn’t make any sense.

Even Clint picked up on things later that week, both of them slinking out of the bedroom for dinner with messy hair and wrinkled clothes and swollen lips. His eyes narrowed, looking them up and down, before scooping a portion of chili into his bowl. “Are y’all fucking?”

“No,” Bucky said pointedly, glaring at Steve before continuing, “we’re _not_.” Then Steve stuck his head in the fridge like he hadn’t heard either of them, instead asking Clint what he wanted to drink.

The following night, Bucky decided to try his luck one more time. Steve was leaving in the morning; he was helping a friend with a gallery set-up out of town and would be gone for a few days. The idea of this purgatory continuing until he got back made his gut spike with anxiety, and he had to do something. He had to at least know.

Steve was pressing him into the mattress, his tongue licking into his mouth, groaning against his lips. He felt so hot and _good_ against his body, and Bucky _wanted_. He wanted, damn it. So he slid his hand down Steve’s bare chest and over the waistband of his sleep pants.

“Please,” he whispered, his fingers just inches from his dick. But Steve caught his wrist and pinned it to the bed next to his head.

“Patience,” Steve smiled, looking so goddamn smug.

Bucky actually whined. “I _have_ been patient.”

“Bucky,” His eyes raked over Bucky’s face, his grin dropping so suddenly that a knot twisted in his chest. “We’ve got to discuss some stuff before we go further. Alright? I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Do you want me?” He asked quietly, surprised by the bluntness of his own question, embarrassed by the shaky vulnerability in his own voice.

Steve sat up on his knees and scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? I just feel like… we’ve been in limbo for the last few days. If you don’t want me or—or this, then just tell me, we’ll stop. But if you do, then… I want it too. But I can wait for—” he gestured toward Steve in a roundabout way “—you too. For whatever you’re waiting on.”

Steve gazed at him for several moments before his hand came forward to cup Bucky’s cheek. “I do want you,” he whispered. “Okay? I do.” Bucky leaned into his touch and nodded. “I just need to know what you want.”

Bucky’s brows knitted together. Wasn’t that goddamn obvious at this point? “I—”

Steve placed his index finger against Bucky’s lips. “Everything is happening really fast, Bucky.” He paused. “If I told you a week ago that we’d be here, would you have believed it?” Bucky shook his head. He’d hoped for it, sure, but he never thought it would actually happen. “So I think we need to assess what exactly we’re doing and what that looks like before we move any further.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

Steve bit his lip before continuing. “I want you to take the next few days while I’m gone and really think things over. And I’ll do the same.” He reached down and took both of Bucky’s hands in his own. “If it’s any help, I can tell you what my own goals will be while thinking it through.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He took a moment before continuing, his thumbs brushing softly against Bucky’s knuckles. “Buck… your friendship means more to me than anything. And I’ve certainly had friends who were also play partners or sexual partners, and sometimes that worked out okay and sometimes that didn’t.

“I used to play with a lot of newbies before I started working at The Vic, and I still do if they’re a client. I always thought that I could at least give someone a good and safe first experience instead of allowing them to wander off to some predatory dom who wouldn’t respect their boundaries or scare them off. So when you asked me to do that for you…” he paused and bit his lip again before continuing. “I said yes, thinking I’d do the same thing for you that I’ve done for so many others. Except, Bucky, I—“ he cleared his throat. “It was the best first scene I’ve ever had with anyone.” Bucky’s pulse quickened at his confession. “Maybe it’s because we know each other so well, or—or something else. But now there’s this.” He gestures between them. “I don’t want things to get out of hand or go too far and have it ruin our friendship. Because that’s way more important to me than playing or making out or having sex.”

Bucky nodded, taking everything in. Yeah, it made sense. It was strange, though, to hear Steve be so collected and mature about the whole thing, instead of rushing head-first into the fray. It made him grin despite himself.

“What’re you smiling at?” Steve asked, his own lips quirking upward.

“Just… I don’t know. You’ve always run into everything with fists flying. And now you’re all measured and collected and shit.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. He was still holding Bucky’s hands. It was nice. “Nah, not really. You have no idea how hard it was not to kiss you during our scene. And, really, I shouldn’t have done it afterward either without having this conversation first. But, well, I _wanted_ to.” His voice softened at the end, thick as dark molasses. It made a fire heat low in Bucky’s belly to hear it, to know that, in one way or another, Steve wanted him too.

That fire made him feel a little braver, a little more reckless. It muted the constant, nagging voice of anxiety in his brain, always asking _but what if?_ So Bucky grabbed the back of Steve’s thighs and ground up against him. “And this?” he asked pointedly, meeting his gaze. They were only half hard at that point, but Steve’s eyes still fluttered closed at the sensation, a puff of breath escaping his lips. Then he groaned and slid off of Bucky’s lap to sit next to him on the bed.

“You’re bad, you know that?” He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he’s had for as long as Bucky’s known him.

Bucky grinned and looked up at Steve through his lashes, the pinnacle of innocence. “Oh? Should I be punished?”

“Oh my god,” Steve responded, shoving him. Bucky laughed and Steve joined him, all of the tension in the air releasing around them just like that. “My punishments aren’t fun, pal. Trust me.”

“What about—” what had Clint called it that one time? “—‘funishment?’”

“Yeah, nice try, but I’m not Clint.” Then Steve lay down next to him, propping his head on his hand before roaming his eyes over Bucky’s face. His grin faded, but his face was still soft when it turned more serious. “Think about what you want the next few days, yeah?”

“I will,” Bucky said before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss against his lips.

*

Even with Clint being his usual human disaster self (_”Oh my god, Clint, you can’t soak a cast iron skillet in water. I thought you were from Iowa, Christ.”_), the apartment was quiet without Steve’s presence, empty. On Sunday, Bucky spent most of the day doing homework and preparing things for Dr. Bishop’s lectures that week. The rest of the day was spent thinking over the last few weeks, his night at The Vic, the morphing of his feelings regarding Steve, their first scene together, and everything else since then.

Steve had been right; their friendship _was_ most important in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t want to jeopardize that for anything. Would starting something more serious with Steve put them at risk? Would sex or kink get in the way of the Steve-and-Bucky they’d always been?

He lay in bed that night, imagining a dozen scenarios of things going south if they became fuck buddies or play partners or dominant-and-submissive or even—Bucky’s heart pitter-pattered at this last one—_boyfriends_. Then he thought back to the worst fight they’d ever had: December, senior year, just a few months before Sarah had died. The catalyst had been so trivial that Bucky couldn’t even remember it now, but they’d been two dumb boys without communication skills, and they went an entire month without speaking to each other. Bucky’s Christmas present for Steve had stayed tucked away in his closet, and when it had gotten late on Christmas night and Bucky still hadn’t heard from him, he sent him a text—_Merry Christmas, Steve. Hope it’s been good._— and had only gotten _you too_ back as a reply. Then school had started again, and Bucky had misunderstood Steve’s poor attempt at an olive branch, and they’d stayed in hellish purgatory until their moms had locked them into a room together until they’d gotten their shit together.

And while Bucky couldn’t remember what had started that fight so long ago, he remembered sitting in Steve’s bedroom, the one that Clint slept in now, the walls covered in Fall Out Boy posters and cheap Giulia Lucciano prints. He probably remembered the prints so well because she was Steve’s favorite painter and his inspiration for becoming a watercolor artist himself. Steve had been sitting on his bed, dirty clothes piled at his feet, and he’d just _unloaded_ once they’d started talking—_it was a whole month and we’d never gone that long without speaking and I thought that was it, that everything was over. And then you didn’t even take the hint that I was trying to get you to come with me to see the show with me, of course I wasn’t just going by myself, you fucking jackass. And—_. And then Bucky had stood up from the armchair across the room and bent down awkwardly to give him a hug and hopefully shut him up. Which had, surprisingly, worked. They’d stayed like that for so long that Bucky had finally just knelt down and circled his arms around his skinny waist, pressing his face against Steve’s chest.

“I don’t want to do that again,” Steve had whispered, tightening his arms around him, and Bucky had felt Steve’s heart pound against his ear as he said it. He remembered thinking that the doctors must have had it all wrong; it hadn’t sounded weak at all. It had sounded strong and resolute and everything he knew Steve Rogers to be.

“Me neither.”

Steve had pulled back, his eyes searching Bucky’s so deeply it had felt as though Steve could see straight down into soul, not a single wall raised to protect him. “Then we won’t, right? Promise me.”

He’d nodded with a solemn promise, and even after years apart, with only a phone to tether each other together, that promise had never been broken. They were still here, Bucky-and-Steve, and when it came down to it, he couldn’t see any scenario where either of them would walk back on that.

*

Bucky was at office hours the next day, which were usually pretty slow this early in the semester, when he got a text from Steve.

**SR**: _Hey, how are things?_  
**BB**: _Fine. At office hours, but no students. Everything okay there?_  
**SR**: _Yeah, actually. Running a bit ahead of schedule. Going to try to get an earlier train back in the morning._  
**BB**: _Oh good._

Bucky realized that perhaps text wasn’t the best medium to have this discussion, but he wouldn’t mind a bit of distance in case things didn’t go the way he was hoping.

**BB**: _I’ve been thinking about everything._  
**SR**: _Yeah, me too._

He was contemplating what to send as a response when Steve replied again.

**SR**: _Do you wanna talk about it now?_  
**BB**: _Yeah, I’m free unless a student comes in._

Then Bucky’s phone buzzed in his hand with an incoming call from Steve. That wasn’t what he’d meant by talking now, but okay.

“Hey,” Bucky answered, closing the office door until it was only open a sliver. The office was the size of a closet, so he didn’t even have to stand up to do it.

_”Hi.”_

“Hey.”

_”You said that already,”_ Steve said, and he could hear the smile in his reply.

”Yeah, I guess I did. So...” His index finger trailed along a loose thread in his jeans, and he rolled it into a ball before straightening it out again.

_”So. What have you been thinking?”_

“Well,” Bucky took a deep breath. He’d hoped that Steve would tell him what he’d been thinking instead, but now the ball was very uncomfortably in his court. No pressure or anything. “Look, I can’t think of anything happening that would make me want to end things between us. We’ve always been friends, and we— we promised each other.”

_”Yeah,”_ Steve’s voice was soft. _”We did.”_

“Even if shit goes south…” he paused, trying to find the right words. “Fuck, Steve, nothing’s gonna be the end of us. I can’t even fathom it.”

_”Yeah,”_ Steve sighed like he was relieved. _”Me either.”_ He could hear Steve’s breath in the silence that followed until Steve spoke again. _”Okay. So what now?”_

“I think I’ve been pretty obvious about what I want.”

_”Sex.”_ It wasn’t question.

“Yeah,” Bucky responded.

_”And kink?”_

“Definitely.”

_”A dominant?”_

He paused. He wanted Steve to dominate him, to be in charge, but having a Dominant with a Capital D felt… big. Like eloping to Vegas on a second date. “Uh, I think so?”

_”Hey, you don’t have to make a decision about that right now. We can do this as slowly as you want.”_

Bucky felt a little bit of tension ease from his chest. “I mean, I want you to—” he glanced at the door to make sure it hadn’t opened in the last five seconds, “—tell me what to do and everything. I still want that.”

_”Then that’s what we’ll do. No rush or pressure. It’s not like I’m going to collar you tomorrow.”_

Bucky’s brain instantly shot off in 20 different directions because collaring had never even crossed his mind and it was equal parts scary and hot as fuck. “Uh. Right. Yeah.”

_”Also, I feel like I should be up front here. I enjoy my work, and I’m not giving that up.”_

That really hadn’t even crossed his mind. “That’s fine.”

_”Okay. And you do realize that I have sex with some of my clients?”_

“Y-yeah,” he whispered. He sometimes still felt uncomfortable by how openly Steve would discuss things.

_”Okay. I get tested regularly. And I use protection for any type of sexual play with clients. I don’t generally use protection for oral with personal sex partners, but I do for anal. But I’ll also do whatever you’re comfortable with.”_

“No, that’s fine with me,” he responded.

Then he heard a commotion on Steve’s end, followed by Steve telling his friend he’d be right there. _”Bucky, I gotta go now. But. I’m happy we talked this through. I’m…excited.”_

He grinned in response. He suddenly wished he could see Steve’s face in that moment, bright smile and gleaming blue eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

*

He spent the rest of the day floating in a haze of excitement and anticipation, finding himself smiling despite himself a handful of times that afternoon. When school was over, he took Lucky to McCarren Park for a run and a romp around the dog park and then, after a quick shower, he and Clint met up with Tash and Kate for burgers a few blocks down.

“Well don’t you look daydreamy tonight?” Tash asked while the four of them looked over the menus. When he glanced up, Tash was smirking at him knowingly and he felt warmth stain his cheeks.

“Uh—”

“I already asked,” Clint interjected. “They’re not fucking.”

“Mmm,” Tash replied, brows raised in disbelief, before whispering, “yet,” under their breath. Then they looked back down at the menu as if they hadn’t said anything at all. Had Steve told them what had happened? They did seem like the type of person who knew everything about everyone without even asking. They probably would’ve been a great spy in another life.

Dinner was a nice distraction. He and Kate talked about Broadway shows and he and Tash mostly just made fun of Clint. When he and Clint got home late that night, Bucky slid into bed with a few science journals pulled up on his tablet for Wednesday’s class. He got halfway through the first article when his mind started drifting to Steve, to their scene at the Vic, to the last time they were in this bed together. His cock began to stir at images of Steve grinding against him, of what it would be like to cross the next line now that it was actually going to happen. To feel Steve’s dick in the palm of his hand, in the warmth of his mouth—

His phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting his perfectly good fantasy. It was Steve, though, so he didn’t mind too much.

**SR**: _Sorry I got pulled away earlier._  
**BB**: _That’s alright._

He took a deep breath, looked down at the outline of his cock in his blue-and-white striped boxer briefs, and decided to test the waters of this new thing.

**BB**: _I was just thinking of you._  
**SR**: _Yeah? What about?_

Bucky bit his lip before turning on the lamp on Steve’s side of the bed. Then he slid his hand under his boxers and stroked his cock until it was fully hard. Girls were always complaining about unsolicited dick pics; surely it would be okay if he took a photo while still in his underwear, right?

He snapped several pictures until he found the one he liked best—his hand over his boxers, holding the base of his cock, the outline fully visible beneath the fabric—and hit send.

**BB**: _I bet you can guess._  
**SR**: _Jesus, Bucky._

His chest instantly seized in panic. Had he fucked up? He typed his next response as quickly as he could.

**BB**: _Was that okay? I probably should’ve warned first. Or asked._  
**SR**: _Yes. Yeah. It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. But god, you look good._

Bucky let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and grinned, sitting up a little against the pillows.

**BB**: _Yeah?_  
**SR**: _Yeah. I’m hard as fuck now._

_Fuck_. Okay, then. His dick twitched and he reached down to give it a few tugs.

**SR**: _Are you touching yourself?_

**BB**: _Uh, yeah._

**SR**: _Okay. You should know that I always expect you to ask for permission to come. Even when jerking off. Even when I’m not there. Is that understood?_

_Oh_. A spark shot up his spine at the thought of Steve holding that kind of power over him.

**BB**: _Yes._  
**SR**: _Good._  
**BB**: _Can I come tonight?_  
**SR**: _I don’t know, can you?_

Bucky rolled his eyes. What a dumbass.

**BB**: _Christ, you’re annoying. MaY i CoMe ToNiGhT?_  
**SR**: _Not anymore._

He groaned and squeezed the base of his dick, typing his next reply with one hand.

**BB**: _Really?_  
**SR**: _Yes really._  
**BB**: _STEVE! Please?_  
**SR**: _No. Brats don’t get nice things._

Bucky pouted in response.

**BB**: _Please, Stevie?_  
**SR**: _If you can behave yourself, you may come tomorrow night._

Steve would be home tomorrow, so maybe…

**BB**: _With you?_  
**SR**: _If you play your cards right._

Bucky really would’ve liked for his erection to disappear since he couldn’t do anything about it, but now his mind was imagining all the possibilities that tomorrow could bring.

**BB**: _Well, that thought certainly isn’t helping my hard-on go away._  
**SR**: _¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

Bucky couldn’t believe that he actually wanted to submit to this little jerk. He tossed his phone to the other side of the bed, picked up his tablet, and studiously ignored his dick while finishing his class readings.

Or, at least he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pop culture references**  
[You’re Doing Amazing Sweetie - this meme.](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/youre-doing-amazing-sweetie)  
What Do You Meme? - like Cards Against Humanity, but with memes!  
2-Live Crew song - _Face Down, Ass Up, That’s the way we like to fuck_  
[Alexa, play Pony by Ginuwine](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/this-is-so-sad-alexa-play-despacito)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky’s fingertips rubbed over the knobs of Steve’s spine. It was such a familiar gesture that it was second nature; Bucky probably knew the curve of Steve’s spine as well as the back of his own hand.
> 
> That thought made Bucky suck in a sudden, shaky breath.
> 
> Was that sort of intimate knowledge normal between friends? Or had this always been inevitable? Predestined? Inescapable?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet an OC this chapter who I definitely pictured as modern-day Bradley Whitford while writing.
> 
> **Chapter 3 kinks**  
sadomasochism, spanking, mild humiliation, orgasm control, dacryphilia, hair-pulling, frottage, oral sex, facials, aftercare, anal sex, rimming
> 
> Another warning: there is a mention of animal abuse in this chapter, but it has a very happy ending.

_I found God_  
_I found him in a lover_  
_When his hair falls in his face_  
_And his hands so cold they shake_  
Halsey, ‘Coming Down’

The following morning started out just fine. Bucky was excited to finally see Steve tonight (and everything that implied), Clint hadn’t eaten all of the granola bars so he was actually able to grab breakfast on his way out the door, and his favorite shirt (a soft blue, short-sleeved button-up with tiny, cream polka dots) was already cleaned and ironed in the closet (thanks, Steve!).

But then the rest of the day happened.

There was an emergency on the track so the J train stopped running, and Bucky didn’t know that until he was already in Manhattan for the connection. By the time he got to campus, he’d completely missed his first class and only caught the last half of the second. He’d apparently fucked the lecture slides for Dr. Bishop, and while his professor was gracious and kind about the whole thing, it sent Bucky in a tailspin of horror and embarrassment. Then, when he grabbed lunch in the student union, “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac was playing, which was Becca’s favorite song (she had terrible taste in movies but great taste in music), and he started crying in the middle of the cafeteria. And finally, as the cherry on top of the whole shitshow of a day, the J train was _still_ down when it was time to go home, and he got caught in a torrential downpour at the bus stop.

When he finally put his key in the door, he was soaked and miserable and seeing Steve’s mouth turn from radiant smile to concerned frown at the sight of him made it all feel so much worse.

“You look like you’ve had a day,” Steve said before coming up and giving him a hug, pressing tightly against him despite his wet clothes.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, before wrapping his arms around Steve’s small frame and pressing his cheek against the crest of his forehead. They stayed like that for several moments until Steve pulled back and gave him a light kiss against his lips.

“Why don’t you go and change into dry clothes, hmm?”

“Okay,” he whispered, but it was several moments until he finally let go of Steve and made his way to the bedroom. “Is Lucky in Clint’s room?” He realized once he pulled away that neither Lucky nor his human were around.

“Clint took Lucky to Kate’s for the night,” Steve responded.

“Oh.” That was unfortunate; a Lucky cuddle would’ve been nice. Bucky made quick work of taking off his wet clothes and was toweling off his hair in a dry pair of boxers when Steve came in and sat on the bed. He was wearing navy sweatpants and a white tank top, and he looked so soft and inviting.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged and sat down next to him. “Just a hundred small things piling up throughout the day.” He knew if he brought up the Becca thing that he’d start crying again, and he really didn’t want to do that. Steve was right here, and Steve _wanted him_. Couldn’t he just get past all of the shitty parts of the day so he could enjoy this?

Steve grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips before softly kissing each of his knuckles, one by one. Bucky closed his eyes as he did so, and when he opened them again, Steve’s gaze was so full of promise and heat that it made Bucky’s breath catch in his chest. Then Steve sat up and straddled his lap. He slid his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulled him close. He tucked his chin over Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky allowed himself to melt into the embrace. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, Steve stroking the bare skin of his back, Bucky’s fingertips rubbing over the knobs of Steve’s spine. It was such a familiar gesture that it was second nature; Bucky probably knew the curve of Steve’s spine as well as the back of his own hand.

That thought made Bucky suck in a sudden, shaky breath.

Was that sort of intimate knowledge normal between friends? Or had this always been inevitable? Predestined? Inescapable? Had there always been something _more_ buried in the vast ocean of their friendship, a treasure so well hidden that Bucky had spent the majority of his life completely oblivious to its existence? He suddenly ached with need to dive below the depths, sink to the bottom, rummage and dig through the sand to finally see and grasp and cherish what had been there all along.

But right now his mind was so clouded and jumbled from his horrendous day; he couldn’t grasp at anything at the moment. If only he could—if Steve would just—

“Stevie,” he whispered.

Steve pulled back, his brows creased in concern. “Yeah?”

“Please.”

Steve reached up and trailed his fingers down Bucky’s cheek. “Please what, honey?”

He took a deep breath. “I just want to forget this shitty day and get out of my head and finally just be with you.”

Steve tilted his head in thought, his eyes roaming over his face. “You trust me?”

Bucky scoffed. “Am I fucking breathing?”

A grin crept onto his face like he just couldn’t help it. “Yeah, alright.” He ran his fingers through Bucky’s still damp hair, the strands getting tangled in his grasp. “Is everything we negotiated last time still okay?”

Bucky nodded against his hand. “Yeah.”

“And sex?”

“Please.”

“Hands, mouth, genitals, penetration?”

His dick started to perk up even at that very clinical list, so okay, he guessed the day wasn’t a total wash. “Yep.”

“What about humiliation?”

Bucky pursed his lips in thought. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

“Would you like to try it? You can safe-word if you don’t like it, and we’ll move on.”

The thing was, Bucky _did_ trust Steve. And he was willing to try things he was unsure about because Steve wouldn’t judge him or give him a hard time if it didn’t work out.

“Yeah, alright. Maybe, just, don’t demean my intelligence? I mean, I know we’ve always called each other dumbass and idiot, but....”

“But it’s different. I know.” Steve smiled fondly before his hand tightened in his hair, tilting Bucky’s face upward to look at him. “Okay. What are my rules?”

“Uh,” The tension of his hair being pulled away from his scalp was _so good_. So good. “Respond verbally to questions, apologize if I fuck up, ask permission to come, your dungeon’s not a pig sty.” _Even though our bedroom totally is_, he thought, but wisely did not say.

“Yeah. Good boy,” Steve replied, patting his cheek, and Bucky just couldn’t help how his face lit up in response to his praise. Steve stood and grabbed his phone to turn on some music, and something low and sultry started to pour from the speakers. Then he took off his tank top and sweats, leaving him in a pair of black boxers, so comfortably soft and faded they almost looked gray.

Bucky had seen Steve in this state of undress so many times that it should’ve been completely unremarkable. Yet there he was, his eyes trailing over his sharp collar bones, his dusky nipples, the lithe muscles of his tattooed arms. His fingers ached to reach out and slide along his firm belly, down the trail of blond hair leading below his boxers, and back up to the barest indentations of his ribs, which used to be much more prominent when they were younger. His eyes finally fell below his waist and Steve’s erection was unmistakable, a pressing bulge beneath the cotton of his boxers.

God, Steve really did _want him_. He’d never get used to that.

“Take off your underwear,” Steve said before getting on the bed and positioning himself in the middle against the headboard. Bucky ignored the wriggling worry in the back of his mind that Steve wouldn’t be as interested once he saw him naked—_he’s seen you naked before, dumbass_— and slid his boxers down his thighs and stepped out of them. He folded them like he was supposed to and put them on the edge of the bed. “Shit,” Steve said, breathless, drinking him in so obviously that it made his skin itch. “You’re a sight, Buck.”

Bucky nervously stepped forward, and Steve shook his head. “I didn’t tell you to move. Step back to where you were.”

"Ah, I'm sorry." He did as he was told.

“You’re going to stroke your cock now. And it’s the only time tonight it’ll be touched, so enjoy it while you can.”

His hand shakily reached forward and grasped his dick; it was hot and full in his hand and he moaned at the first friction of skin against skin. He began to pump his hand slowly, curling his wrist when he got to the head before sliding it back down. When he looked up, Steve was watching him with hooded eyes and pink cheeks, and his right hand was gripping the base of his dick through his boxers.

“Have you thought about this?” Steve asked. “About us?”

“Yeah.” His voice was ragged.

“Tell me.”

Bucky suddenly felt too naked, too exposed, and he fought the instinct to curl in on himself and hide. Instead, he took a deep, fortifying breath. “I think about sucking you off. I think about—I think about you holding me down and fucking me. About you riding my dick and just using me to get yourself off.” Steve groaned at that one, and _oh_, Bucky was already getting closer. “Do you—do you think of us?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Buck. But,” he smirked, “I’d rather show you than tell you.” He removed his hand from his cock and patted his thigh. “Get over my knee.”

_Oh._

Bucky crossed the room and climbed onto the bed before lowering himself over Steve’s lap. His dick was now pressed against Steve’s leg, and Steve’s warning about not being touched made him realize that if Steve would allow him to come tonight, rubbing against him like teenage boy was probably the only way he’d get there. The thought made his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Steve stroked a cool palm down Bucky’s back and over the curve of his ass before he cupped it in his hands. “You’re so hot it hurts sometimes,” he whispered, and Bucky could hear reverence in his voice, so soft and gentle, a short reprieve from what he had planned for the rest of the evening. He’d never heard that particular lilt in the voice of Steve Rogers. It made Bucky’s chest swell, and he closed his eyes and buried it away to find and cherish later.

All of his thoughts went out the window when Steve finally landed a stinging blow directly to his ass. Bucky cried out, somehow not expecting it even though he knew it was coming. Steve’s hand smacked his other ass cheek and his body drove forward, making his dick rub against Steve’s skin. He moaned at the contact. Then Steve hit him again and again and, Jesus, how did just a _hand_ feel like that? A hand belonging to a guy who weighed a buck twenty soaking wet?

Steve paused for a moment and Bucky realized that although Steve’s hands were no longer driving his body forward, he was doing it of his own accord, seeking delicious friction against Steve’s leg.

“Jesus,” Steve said before yanking on Bucky’s hair. “You should see how slutty you look right now, trying to get off on _my leg_.” Steve smacked him twice more and Bucky stopped moving when he did. “Oh, no. Don’t stop on my account. You obviously need it really bad.” The next hit was a _wallop_ and Bucky’s back arched in response. The stinging pain of Steve’s hand against his bare skin was so intense that his brain was starting to fuzz and blur at the corners. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, Stevie,” he whimpered.

“Let’s see,” Steve said, and the next thing Bucky knew, Steve was pulling his thighs apart to fondle his balls. He tugged them just enough to make Bucky hiss. _Jesus._ “Yeah, definitely feels like you need it. Bet you wish you hadn’t run your smartass mouth last night, hmm?” Steve’s hand tangled in his mane pulled tighter, bending Bucky’s neck back uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out before Steve let go of his hair. Steve smacked him several times in a row in the exact same spot, pain and pleasure hitting him fiercely at once, and Bucky just leaned into the friction against his dick, gripping the edge of the mattress so he could grind against him better.

“I can’t believe that you’re so hard up for it that you’re rutting against my thigh like an _animal_. It’s pathetic.” The words made Bucky’s eyes prickle with gathering tears, and he closed them in a poor attempt to stave off embarrassment. But they also, somehow, made him impossibly harder, and he felt the budding growth of climax in his groin.

“Stevie, please.” He knew what he needed to ask for but he was having trouble finding the words.

“Please what, sweetheart?” There was a sharp edge to his voice that stabbed into Bucky’s nerves, making him wince and writhe in pleasure at the same time.

“May I come?” he pleaded.

Steve dug his thumbs into the fleshy globes of his ass, and holy hell, how did that hurt so badly? “Are you really going to let yourself come like this?”

“Yes,” Bucky sobbed, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He knew he wasn’t allowed to stop grinding against Steve’s leg but he was going to come really soon. “Please, _please_, I can’t—I need it.”

“Oh do you?”

He nodded. He needed to come so badly it was almost painful, and— “Oh god, oh god, please. Fuck. _Steve_. Stevie, please.”

Finally, finally, Steve leaned down and whispered in his ear, sweet as pie. “Sure, honey.”

Bucky spilled right then and there with a groan, pulsing hot trails of come along his stomach and Steve’s thighs. When he finished, Steve turned him over, and he realized that he was shaking from the intensity of what had just happened—fucked out and blissed out and on complete overload. Steve gave him a few moments to collect himself, then cupped his cheek with soft affection, wiping away Bucky’s tears with his thumbs.

_I love you,_ he thought.

“Doin’ alright, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Y-yes,” he replied shakily, but it was the goddamn truth.

“I’m going to go get a washcloth to clean up,” Steve said before standing up. “I’ll be right back.” Bucky sat up slowly as Steve walked away, wincing as his ass brushed against the sheets. When Steve came back in a minute later, wiping the come off of his legs with the washcloth, Bucky was hit with a sudden need to fall on his knees in front of him, so he did so, instantly comforted by how good it felt, how _right_.

Steve frowned and stepped in front of him. “You still alright?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes, just—” He pressed his face against Steve’s thigh and inhaled the scent of him, the sharpness of pine from his body wash, the faint hint of sweat from their scene, and the undeniable _Steve-ness_ that Bucky could never describe in words but would know anywhere in any lifetime. As he rubbed his cheek against him, he felt the hot, hard length of Steve’s cock, and he heard Steve inhale sharply.

He pulled back, his mouth already salivating as his hands came to rest at his waistband. “Please, Stevie?” he asked, hoping that Steve would finally, finally say yes.

“Yeah, yeah. Shit, Bucky,” he said and scrambled out of his boxers. Bucky took in the sight of him when he righted himself, his pink cock, long and lean, so goddamn pretty that it made his head spin. He looked up at Steve through his lashes and took Steve’s dick in his hand, licking a fat stripe upward from base to tip. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut and then Bucky sucked the head into his mouth, laving his tongue along the underside. Steve whimpered, _whimpered_, before grabbing Bucky’s hair and shoving the rest of his cock into his mouth. It was rock-hard and velvet-soft against his lips and tongue, and Bucky savored the feel and taste of him, so much better than he ever could’ve imagined. Steve’s eyes never left his face, alternating between Bucky’s mouth, stuffed full of his cock, and his eyes, which were met each time with that piercing gaze that turned Bucky inside out.

Steve was in complete control and making Bucky a goddamn wreck—his stubbled chin was covered in his own drool and his eyes were watering of their own volition. And when Steve started getting sloppier, his moans getting louder, Bucky pulled back, put Steve’s hand on his own cock, and choked out, “please. On my face,” wanting so desperately for Steve to mark him and claim him and make him his.

“God, _god_, fuck,” Steve groaned before shooting ribbons of white warmth across Bucky’s cheeks, his eyelids, his parted mouth. When Steve was finally done, Bucky opened his eyes and licked the come off of his lips, making Steve’s breath catch as he did so. He knelt down to Bucky’s level and wiped each smear off of his face with his thumb and brought it to Bucky’s mouth where he licked and sucked off every drop. When they finished, Steve sagged against the bed and pulled Bucky against him.

“How are you?” Steve whispered, running his fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m unsure if I’m corporeal right now,” Bucky replied and Steve chuckled. “What about you?”

It took a moment for him to respond. “Kinda speechless, actually.”

Bucky snuggled closer to him, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. “A goddamn first.”

“Watch it,” Steve replied, but his voice was soft and Bucky could hear the smile behind it.

As they lay there together, he realized how giving himself over to Steve had allowed him to forget everything else, the whole world narrowing to just the two of them and what they could do for one another. Binary stars circling each other in inky vastness around them. “I needed that,” Bucky whispered. “Thank you.”

Steve didn’t respond; he just pulled him closer and held him until Bucky’s mind and body finally came back online. And later, when they sat at the table under the rig, eating the soup Steve had put in the slow cooker earlier that day, Bucky suddenly remembered with startling clarity what he’d thought right after Steve had completely pulled him apart.

Bucky loved him.

He loved him. It had come to his mind so easily, as though he thought and said it every single day.

One part of his mind told him it had just been his dick talking, but the other part was telling him that he didn’t seem to feel too differently now that it was all over.

“You okay?” Steve asked, reaching for his hand across the table.

Bucky smiled the best that he could, tucking the newfound treasure back into the sand. “Yeah, I’m just fine.”

*

Steve woke him up hours later around 3 a.m. with hot, wet kisses on his neck.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, and Bucky’s mind wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet, but Steve’s skin felt so good against his own and Steve’s cock was hard against his hip. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, blood pulsing to his dick so quickly that his head was spinning. Then Steve surged upward and kissed him, his mouth sour from sleep, but Bucky didn’t care in the slightest. They sucked each other off under the blanket of darkness, slow and unhurried. Steve’s mouth was a revelation, a whole new world that Bucky couldn’t believe he’d never explored, the eighth goddamn wonder. And when he wrapped his own lips around Steve’s arousal, still buzzing from his orgasm, Steve curled his fingers in his disheveled hair and whispered his name twice just seconds before he came, sounding just as wrecked as Bucky felt.

When it was all over, Bucky laid his head on Steve’s stomach and pressed kisses against his smooth skin, every one of them a confession of his new-realized love that he couldn’t yet speak into the darkness.

*

From then on, somehow, nothing changed, and yet everything was different.

Steve still spent hours working in front of his drafting table, he still met clients almost every day, coming home in various stages of wreckage depending on the person’s wants and whims. He still slept too little and did too much and prickled when Bucky called him on it.

But now Bucky found that his heart would flutter rapidly at the smallest things—Steve’s bright smile, his long lashes fanning against his cheeks, the smattering of freckles on his right shoulder, even the furrow of his brows when he’d get all pissed and self-righteous about something. Bucky was good and gone and trying his best to not look like a lovesick fool.

September flew by in a whirlwind of school and life and the two of them discovering each other in new ways. He loved both sides of what they did in the darkness of their room or the sunlit dungeon in the Vic. He reveled in submitting to Steve’s sure hands and merciless laugh, he savored Steve’s gentle embrace and soft words—_honey_ and _gorgeous_ and _you did so well_.

They began to explore rope more and more, and nothing made Bucky feel more secure and grounded than the feel of rope against his skin.

“Would you let me draw you like this?” Steve asked one Sunday. They were at the Vic, and Steve had just taught a class on chest harnesses. Now they were sitting on the floor, the two of them wrapping up Steve’s rope after everyone else had left.

“Like this?”

Red imprints from the jute were still pressed into his flesh of his arms from Steve demonstrating the ties on his body. Steve traced the pad of his thumb over the indented lines on his right bicep. “In rope.”

“Sure,” he responded, smiling softly. Steve used to draw him all the time in high school and in college. He and Sarah were the only two people who’d had the patience to sit long enough for a Steven Grant Rogers original.

“Would now be okay? The lighting is really lovely and you look—” he stopped himself, his cheeks turning a dusty pink as he did so.

“Yes?” Bucky whispered.

“Just—gorgeous, actually.”

Bucky smiled shyly before leaning over to give him a kiss. “You can draw me whenever.”

It was funny how different it felt for Steve to tie him then compared to how he had tied him in class just a little while ago. Before, Steve’s hands had worked mechanically, stopping or slowing down at difficult parts to go over them with the class. Bucky had just been there as a model, which he’d been happy to do. But now Steve knelt behind him, his hands caressing Bucky’s skin as he wound the rope around his body. He kissed the side of his neck as he pressed against his back, his breath a steady rhythm against his ear. Steve’s palm slid around his side to cup against his hip, rubbing his thumb against the bone.

When Steve finished the tie, he moved to face him. “Do you feel comfortable?”

Bucky tested his wrists and his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll probably take a couple of pictures in case we need to untie you. That way I don’t lose the image.” He started to stand up and then knelt back down. “Just one kiss before I start, hmm?” He asked before pressing his mouth against Bucky’s, soft and slick and so good against his own. It turned into more than one kiss, but Bucky didn’t complain. How could he when Steve’s kisses turned the blood in his veins to molten metal every time?

When Steve finally pulled back, he was breathless, his hooded gaze roving over Bucky’s face. “Bucky,” he whispered, “I—” He stopped, their eyes meeting.

“What, Stevie?”

He shook his head and pressed one final, chaste kiss against his lips. “I should draw you before I lose the light.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what had just happened, but instead he focused on the feeling of Steve’s rope on his skin and Steve’s kiss on his lips and the love in his heart.

“Oh, whatever you’re thinking about right now, keep thinking that,” Steve said softly.

So Bucky obeyed.

*

October meant only one month left with Lucky (and Clint, he guessed), so Bucky started taking him on morning runs whenever he could as their time dwindled. It also meant an impending chill in the air and leaves crunching under his running shoes. Fall was his favorite season, especially in New York, so he happily grabbed his jacket and Lucky’s leash and headed outside.

“I know we’ve only got a few weeks left together, bud,” Bucky said, picking up his pace as they left the neighborhood. “But I promise I’ll come visit. And if that loveable disaster you call a dad goes out of town or something, Steve and I can dog-sit you! It’ll be like old times.”

Lucky wasn’t paying him a bit of attention—which, rude. But then he was tugging on his leash to go back to the trash can outside the bodega they’d just passed.

“There’s nothing good in there, bud. You do not want trash in New York City, okay? You snub your nose at dog food.” Lucky kept nosing and sniffing around the can until he gave a pitiful whine.

“Lucky, we’ve gotta go—”

All of a sudden, he was interrupted by the smallest, squeakiest meow he’d ever heard coming directly from the garbage can. He looked at Lucky, then back to the source, and then back to Lucky. He took the top off and there was a shoe box stirring inside, with something trying to pry off the taped lid. _What the fuck_, Bucky thought, horrified at whatever monster had done it. He slid his thumbs under the tape and opened the box. And there was a tiny, white kitten with blue eyes who hissed the moment it saw him.

He chuckled. “Yeah, alright. I’m sure you’ve got reasons to be mad at the world.” He slowly reached for the cat who once again hissed as his hand neared. “Okay, okay, no touching.” He popped the lid back on the box and asked the bodega clerk for a pen to poke some air holes into the top, grinning despite himself when he felt the little bugger swiping at the pen when it popped a new hole.

He looked at the time; he probably had enough time to run down to the pet store a few blocks down and get some food and a temporary litter box until he decided what the hell to do with a tiny kitten. He tucked the box under his arm, grabbed Lucky’s leash, and headed that way. Thirty minutes later, he was back at the apartment, juggling a cat, a dog, and supplies up the stairs.

When he finally got in the door, he ran to the bedroom and shook Steve awake while holding the box in his other hand.

“What?” Steve snapped crankily, rolling away from him as he did so.

“I’ve got a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” he mumbled.

True. Maybe Bucky hadn’t thought this through. “This is a good one, though. A cute one, even.”

Steve groaned and burrowed further into the bed.

“Steve, I swear to god, wake the fuck up and look.”

“I will beat your ass, Barnes,” he said before throwing back the blanket in the most dramatic way possible and sitting up. “What is it?”

“Uh,” Bucky’s eyes roved across the room, realizing there were about two dozen spots for a small kitten to get lost in. “Maybe I should show you in the bathroom.”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve stood up and stomped to the bathroom, and wow, Bucky had forgotten how much of an asshole Steve could be when his beauty sleep was interrupted.

He followed Steve and shut the door behind him, keeping out a very curious Lucky. Steve was already sitting on the closed toilet, his brows raised expectantly.

Bucky placed the box on the floor and took off the lid. “Ta-da!”

The kitten shirked away when it saw Bucky again.

“Oh my god,” Steve said. “It’s so tiny.” The kitten turned at Steve’s voice and hissed at him. “Wow. And angry.”

“Aww, just like you. Maybe we should name him—her?—Steve Junior.”

Steve flipped him off and then looked back at the cat. “Are you planning on keeping it?”

Bucky looked up at him and shrugged. “Maybe? Lucky found it actually, and well, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Here, hand me that towel.” Steve grabbed the towel from the rack and Bucky used it to pick up the little fur ball while also trying to save his own skin from its claws. It hissed again as Bucky turned him—yep, him—over before wrapping him up snuggly. “Yep, I know the world sucks, but you’re safe here.” He pet the top of his head as he squirmed in Bucky’s arms.

Steve yawned and looked up at the clock above the bathroom door. “Dude, you’ve got to get ready for class. But I’ll look after him until you get home, and then we can take him to the vet.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, his face lit up with a bright smile. He didn’t realize that he had been looking for Steve’s permission, but he felt a happy relief now that he had it.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

*

“Oh my god, he’s so cute,” Kate said, reaching her hands out to grab for him. It’d been three days and the still nameless cat was barely tolerating Bucky, who fed him, and hissing at everyone else who wasn’t worth his time.

“He may scratch,” Bucky replied before handing him over.

“Who cares? He’s so adorable that it’ll be worth it. _Look at you!_” She cradled him against her chest before leaning back against Clint, who was sandwiched between her and Tash. The three of them had been watching some old black and white movie when Bucky had gotten home from class. The cat wriggled about helplessly in an attempt to escape her grasp.

“What are you watching?” Bucky said, sitting down in the armchair. Steve had a very busy week with clients, and they wouldn’t see each other much the next couple of days. He wouldn’t mind watching something with them.

“_Love in the Afternoon_,” Tash responded.

“Hepburn’s best movie,” Clint offered, as though he were an expert on Audrey Hepburn’s _oeuvre_. Maybe he was, since Bucky had never heard of it.

Still he asked, “How the fuck would you know?”

“I contain multitudes, Buckeroo.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned toward the TV. “What’s happening?”

“Audrey is a good-girl _Parisienne_ who has afternoon dates with American playboy Gary Cooper,” Tash said. “Her father is a PI, and she uses his scandalous case files to create this wonderfully slutty personna so he doesn’t realize that she's just a young, innocent maiden.”

Clint handed him a bowl of popcorn and he settled in to watch the movie with them. Date after date left Gary Cooper increasingly irritable and jealous as Audrey wove tales of all of the men she’d been with, though she never so much as gave him a kiss.

“Here, let me hold him,” Tash said, reaching over for the cat as Audrey began to make Gary jealous all over again with the story of an Alpine guide with dimpled knees and edelweiss tucked behind his ear. “Oh my god, wouldn’t Alpine be such an adorable name for this little snowball?”

“Aww, that’s perfect,” Kate responded.

“Look, Bucky. It’s little Alpine!” They mushed the kitty’s face against their own and gave him a pout.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Now stop cuddling my cat against his will.”

*

Bucky’s mom called two nights later, right after he’d sent her a picture of the newly dubbed Alpine Steven Barnes.

_“You know photos of your cat do not replace actual phone calls with your mother,”_ she said when he picked up the phone.

“Yes, yes. Hello to you too.”

_“How’s school going?”_

“Bananas. It’s right before midterms, so the undergrads who’ve been slackin’ are finally taking an interest.”

_“And you’ve never procrastinated a day in your life.”_

“Mom! Geez. Is it National Give Your Son A Hard Time Day?”

She laughed and then quieted. _“Hell, I didn’t really hurt your feelings did I?”_

“Nah, I’m fine.” He leaned back against the couch and picked up the feather toy to bounce it in front of the cat. Alpine swiped at it twice before running off to hide. “How are you? How’s dad?”

_“Well. It hasn’t been the best week.”_ Dad had taken Becca’s death incredibly hard and had more down weeks than up in the months since.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

_“Hey, at least I finally talked him into seeing a therapist. Speaking of, have you found one since you’ve moved back up?”_

“Uh.”

_“James—”_

“Wow, this is, like, the most stereotypical _mom_ conversation of all time. Calling me by my first name, what the hell.” He could hardly tell her that he’d pretty much replaced therapy with his best friend tying him up and beating him into sweet, mindless oblivion.

_“I’m allowed to call you that, you know. It’s the name we gave you.”_

“You promised me that you had nothing to do with naming me after the most random president imaginable.”

_“Your grandmother is a force to be reckoned with.”_

“I seem to surround myself with those.”

His mom laughed. _“Does that mean Steve is as stubborn as ever?”_

“Uh—” Sure, his mind could’ve just remembered Steve refusing to back down a few nights ago even after some sexist asshole apologized for making a lewd comment about Kate. Instead it meandered to Steve’s hand painfully tangled in his hair while they wrestled on the living room floor last week, his smile sharp, his voice a mere whisper when he asked, _are you ready to yield yet?_ “Yeah, he’s still Steve Rogers.”

_“Well, he comes by it honestly. Sarah was the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”_ It was true. She’d taught Steve the same infallible sense of right and wrong and to never back down from a fight. _“Honey, are you still coming home for Christmas?”_

Oh, fuck, he hadn’t even looked at flights yet. “Ah, yep.”

_“I know you haven’t looked at flights yet.”_

“How do you kn—”

_“So you may as well invite Steve to come too if he wants. It’d be nice to see him.”_

“Alright, I’ll ask him.” He realized that he didn’t really want to spend Christmas without him anyway, so hopefully Steve would be down.

_“Good. I’m going to bed, honey. Maybe text your dad tomorrow? One of those meme things to make him laugh.”_

He grinned. “Yeah, okay, Mom.” They said their goodbyes and then Bucky got up from the couch and headed to the bedroom.

Steve was sitting at his drafting table in the corner of the room. His sketchbook was propped open against the windowsill, and he had a much larger sheet flat on the desk in front of him.

“Was that Winnie?” Steve asked without turning around.

“Yeah. Wants you to come down for Christmas.”

“Oh.” He finally turned around with a soft smile. “I’d like that actually.”

“Alright, I’ll tell her.” Bucky took his shirt off and threw it in the hamper. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Ha, you actually.”

“Hmm?” Bucky’s hand paused on his belt buckle. He walked over and saw the sketch that Steve had drawn after the rope class at the Vic. His hair was in a half-bun, and his arms were bound behind him, the rope digging into his flesh. The features of his face were soft, his lips parted, his eyes closed. He looked… content, happy, at peace. _In love_, Bucky’s mind chimed in, remembering his thoughts as Steve had sketched him that afternoon.

“I would like to turn this into a painting if you’re alright with that,” Steve said, and when Bucky looked down, he saw that Steve had begun to softly pencil the lines of the original sketch onto the paper before him, so light he could barely see it.

“Oh,” Bucky replied. Steve had drawn him many times but he’d never painted him. His watercolor paintings were so vibrant and gorgeous; Bucky didn’t know a lot about art, but he knew that Steve was talented beyond belief. “Yeah, okay.”

“Alright,” Steve said, and then turned around on his stool to face him. “Actually. You can definitely say no to this, so don’t feel pressured. But I’d like to put this in the art show at The Vic. I’m trying to theme the show around the emotions that kink can elicit and you really looked—” he turns to look at his sketchbook and then back to Bucky, “—peaceful.” He gave an almost embarrassed grin. “Enraptured, even. It would be a great addition.”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Buck.” He pulled him forward by his belt loop and bent him down to give him a quick kiss. “You going to sleep soon? Should I stop for the night?”

“In a bit. But, uh, maybe we could make out a little bit first?”

“Hmmm,” Steve replied. “Ask me nicely.”

He bit his lip. “Please, Stevie.”

Steve spread his legs and pushed down on Bucky’s shoulder until he knelt before him. “Anything for my good boy.”

*

Alpine didn’t like Steve. Bucky decided that it was because they were too similar.

“Like magnets,” Bucky said one night.

“That’s not helping your argument,” Steve replied. Bucky was sprawled on top of him on the couch, his chin resting against his stomach.

“I’m just saying that he can’t help the fact that he doesn’t like you.”

“Why do I want a cat who doesn’t like me to sleep in my bed?”

“Because he’ll be lonely.”

Steve stretched out his hand and gestured to the scene in front of him. “He looks perfectly content to me.” Alpine was currently sleeping on top of Lucky, who was also asleep in his bed, a curl of white fluff against tawny, golden fur.

“But Lucky will be gone at the end of the month, and then what?”

Steve’s eyes grew serious before he tucked a loose strand behind Bucky’s ear. “Does that mean you want to stay in my room when Clint leaves?”

Bucky frowned for a moment and then realized what Steve meant. He’d actually forgotten that staying in Steve’s room had been temporary until Clint moved out.

“I mean,” he licked his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Steve was quiet for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I do.” His voice was so soft that Bucky had to suppress a shiver.

Bucky crawled forward and kissed him, soft and happy, until it turned heated, with teeth and tongues and a fluttering warmth in his belly. Steve was rucking his shirt upward when Clint came in the front door.

“Ugh, gross. Don’t you have a room to go to?”

Bucky leaned back, still straddling Steve’s narrow hips.

“Like I’ve never caught you in a precarious situation with Tash,” Steve said.

Clint threw his keys on the small table by the door. “Tash is hotter than both of you assholes put together, so it’d be a welcome sight.”

“But you’d also be apart of that picture, thus lowering the hotness level,” Bucky replied, and Clint shot him a bird.

Lucky got up to greet his dad, jostling Alpine who naturally landed on all four paws. “Are you both sleeping with me tonight?” Clint asked the animals.

“Alpine will get lonely if not.”

“Isn’t Alpine your cat?”

“See Steve? It’s perfectly reasonable to assume that my cat would sleep with me.”

“Well, sleep is a relative term,” Clint said. “He likes to play hide and go knock shit over at 3 a.m.”

“See, Bucky?” Steve cut in, mimicking Bucky’s tone of voice. “It’s perfectly reasonable to not want to be woken up in the middle of the night.”

“Fine,” Bucky said. “Let our cat live a sad life of lonely desolation after Clint and Lucky move out.”

Steve just shrugged in response, and wow, Bucky really did hate him.

*

October came to a close, and Clint packed up his boxes and moved into his new apartment with Tash, with some help from Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Kate. Bucky might’ve teared up the tiniest bit saying goodbye to Lucky, but Clint promised to bring him by whenever they came over to hang out.

There was a Halloween party at The Vic, and after much deliberation while binging season 3 of _Stranger Things_, Bucky and Steve decided to dress up as Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley, respectively.

Bucky had just finished hair-spraying his Harrington coiffant into oblivion when Steve walked out of the bedroom. “Oh my god,” Bucky said. Steve was wearing a coordinated Scoops Ahoy uniform and a dirty blond wig that was bobbed at his neck. “This is the best day of my life.”

Steve leaned over the couch and picked up a small white board with _YOU RULE_ and _YOU SUCK_ scribbled at the top with a line dividing them. “Let’s see what your score is at the end of the night.”

“What do I get if I win or lose?”

“Hmm, you’ll find out, won’t ya?”

“Okay.” Bucky stepped forward and leaned in to kiss him.

“Uh-uh,” Steve said with a shake of his head, pressing his hand against Bucky’s mouth. “I like girls, Harrington.” Then he pulled a marker out his pocket and put a tally mark under _YOU SUCK_.

“What?! Really?”

Steve gave him that smirk that made him want to both punch him and kiss him. “Robin Buckley is a lesbian.”

“Yes, but Steve Rogers is _not_.”

“Who?” Steve asked and gave him the most obnoxious smile.

The night ended with the majority of tally marks under _YOU SUCK_, which, of course, meant Steve dragging Bucky into a corner at The Vic, pushing him to his knees, and then fucking his mouth until he came down Bucky’s throat. And really, Bucky should’ve known that _you suck_ meant exactly what it sounded like.

*

The apartment was certainly quieter without Clint Barton: Human Disaster stomping around. It left them with an extra bedroom where Steve moved his drafting table and art supplies and an extra closet where Bucky moved all of his clothes. It also made everything feel more intimate between them when they no longer had to tiptoe around a roommate out of courtesy.

Now that it was just the two of them, their dynamic started to expand outside of sex and scenes. A rummage for boxer briefs in a basket of clean clothes led to a pointed _mm, no, wear the blue ones instead_, and now Bucky always wore whatever underwear Steve preferred. A couple of nights a week saw him sitting on a pillow at Steve’s feet, Steve’s hand in his hair as Bucky worked on homework or rested his head against his thigh to watch a movie. Every day they sunk further and further into this beautiful thing between them, and Steve was always there to guide him through the depths of it.

November meandered along with the falling of the leaves. They hosted Friendsgiving at their place for anyone not heading home to family, which brought Tash, Clint, and Okoye to their table. They all split up cooking duties, and Tash was somehow placed in charge of alcohol, which was a decision that Bucky would regret for the rest of his life.

“How? How can you drink so much?” Bucky asked them the next day over a very late brunch.

“I’m Russian, little bean,” was their only reply.

December brought the last couple of weeks leading up to the art show, and they were, well, difficult to say the least. Steve refused to take a break from clients while he finished collecting and curating pieces for the show. He was sleeping less and less and only consumed something other than coffee when Bucky put a plate in front of him. Dark circles were pressed under his eyes, and it reminded Bucky too much of Steve’s many health scares when they were kids.

Bucky had just showered and was getting ready for bed when Steve finally came home one night, looking visibly worse than he had that morning.

“Hey,” Bucky said. “There’s leftovers for you in the fridge.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m alright.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh,” Steve grabbed his tablet and sat on the edge of the bed. “I had lunch.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Bucky,” he said shortly, a warning if he’d ever heard one.

“Don’t ‘Bucky’ me,” he responded, suddenly annoyed. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I’m _fine_. I’ve just got a lot going on. And I need to finish this art draft by noon tomorrow.”

“You need to eat and sleep.”

“Buck—”

“I’m going to heat up your food.”

“_God,_” Steve groaned, and Bucky knew it was coming. “I figured we’d be done with this shit now.”

“What shit?”

“Babying me like when we were kids.”

Bucky scoffed. “You mean caring about you.”

“We’re—” He motioned between then and took a deep breath. “I’m your dom—”

“What the _fuck_ does that have to do with anything? You lead me around by my dick now so I can’t look out for you anymore?”

Steve rolled his eyes, and Jesus Christ, he really was a dramatic bitch sometimes. “You allow me to look after you, so I expect you to also allow me to look after myself.”

“I actually wouldn’t allow you to ‘look after me’ right now. You’re a mess. You honestly look like you’re one misstep from a serious illness, and I know,” he said, holding up his hand when Steve began to speak, “I know that you’re a lot healthier now than you were as a kid, and I’m grateful for that. But that doesn’t mean that you play fast and loose with your wellbeing. You’re not going to host any art show if you’re in the fucking hospital, Steve.”

Steve met his eyes with a clenched jaw for several moments, and then finally his shoulders relaxed. Bucky hadn’t even realized how rigid his body had been. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m under a lot of pressure right now.”

“You’re not the only person who works at The Vic, you know, and I know you haven’t let anyone help you.” Steve just made a noncommittal grunt in response, so Bucky knelt down in front of him and grabbed his waist with both hands. “Remember when you told me that power exchange was give and take? So, fuck, let _me_ give a little. I can make sure you eat and I can do your laundry and help out with the art show. Get Tash and Sam to help out too. Okay?”

Steve nodded. “Okay.” His voice was quiet, resigned.

“So you’re going to let me heat you up some food, and you’re going to eat it, and then you’re going to go to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky grinned. “Would you punish me if I said ‘good boy?’”

Steve laughed, and it was such a beautiful sound. “Yes, I would.”

“Okay, then I won’t say that.” He made Steve prop against the pillows in bed and then he brought him a rice bowl with chicken and roasted veggies, with a beer to help relax him.

Steve held out his arms when he finished. “Lay down with me while I try to come down from the day?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded, tucking his head into the crook of Steve’s arm. Then they talked softly for a while, Steve tracing his fingers along Bucky’s and clasping his hand in his own.

“You’ve always been real good to me, Bucky,” Steve whispered before turning to face him.

All of that stupid love within him suddenly rose to the surface, begging to be released. _Because I love you_ threatened to spill from the tip of his tongue. “That’s what friends do, punk,” he said instead, pushing it all right back down.

Steve bit his lip, his eyes searching Bucky’s. “Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah, I know.” He kissed Bucky, softly at first, but it turned heated quickly, as things often did between them. Steve had never half-assed anything in his whole life and that certainly applied to this, hands and mouths and teeth, making Bucky’s skin buzz with want.

Bucky broke the kiss between them, panting. “You should really go to sleep, Stevie.”

“You know what would help me sleep?” His face was very serious all of the sudden.

“What?”

“An orgasm.” He ground his hip against Bucky’s and then shot him a mischievous grin.

Bucky laughed. “You’re awful.” But Bucky couldn’t fault his logic.

“Mmm, maybe,” Steve said into the crook of his neck before mouthing it softly. “I wanna make you feel good, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, his dick already aching with how turned on he was. Steve took off their clothes and kissed his way down his sternum and torso before wrapping his mouth around his cock.

Bucky gasped when Steve’s fingers brushed against his hole, and then Steve pulled off, looking blissed out just from blowing him. “Can I lick you here?”

A moan escaped his lips. “Yes. Please.”

“Turn around,” Steve said, and Bucky did so, getting onto his knees. “Hold yourself open for me.” His face fell to the pillow, grateful for the ability to hide his flush, as his hands moved to pull his cheeks apart. His cock was heavy between his legs. “_God_.” He felt a finger gingerly rub against his entrance and Bucky whimpered. “Oh, you want it bad, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

His face was hot from Steve’s prodding words. Steve often made him ask for what he wanted, but it still made him stammer and blush. “L-lick me open. And fuck me.”

Steve removed his finger and petted his hand down Bucky’s flank before reaching around to palm his cock. Bucky’s hands were still on his ass; he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to move them until he was given permission. Steve leaned over his back and whispered in his ear. “You’ve been so sweet to me tonight, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’re gonna get everything you want.” It felt counterintuitive to Bucky’s earlier argument; Steve really needed someone to take care of _him_ right now. But then he kissed Bucky’s ear, his neck, his shoulder, he ground his cock right against his center. “Let me—” Steve cut short, huffing a breath, “—let me be good to you.”

“Please,” Bucky groaned into the pillow, suddenly desperate for what Steve could give him.

Steve pulled back, and seconds later, he felt the hot, wet swipe of Steve’s tongue against his hole. Bucky moaned at the sensation, soft and warm, as Steve licked fat stripes at his entrance. He began to relax under Steve’s ministrations, lost in a shallow haze of pleasure. It wasn’t enough to get him off, but it just felt so goddamn good.

“Mmm,” Steve pulled back. “I know it feels good, honey, but your hands are slipping. Keep yourself open for me.” Bucky pulled his cheeks further apart, and Steve used the break to grab lubes and condoms. Then his tongue was back, using his fingers to pry him open and press it inside.

“Oh my god,” Bucky said. Steve continued lapping against him and licking inside until his entrance felt hot and loosened. When Steve pulled back, he gave a pleased sighed and then pressed two lubed fingers inside of him. It didn’t take long to prepare, he was pliant from Steve’s tongue and, really, regular sex kept him pretty ready most of the time. So it was only a few moments later when he heard Steve rip open the condom wrapper and lube himself up.

He felt Steve’s length press against him and then pause. “Actually, will you turn around? You can put your hands down.” Bucky flipped over onto his back, and Steve slid one hand under Bucky’s knee to spread his legs open before lining up his cock and pressing inside.

They had only done this position a couple of times, but this time, this time felt different. Because he could see Steve’s brows knit together and his mouth fall slack as he slid in to the hilt. And when he began to move, Steve was right _there_ — close enough to kiss, close enough to wrap his arms around and pull him even nearer. It felt like Bucky’s chest was going to burst when Steve’s eyes caught his, when he slowed his thrusts to a lazy grind and pressed their foreheads together, his cock dragging against Bucky’s prostate with the most delicious friction.

When Steve came, he whimpered Bucky’s name like… like a benediction, like it was _precious_ or sacred. Bucky didn’t even realize he was coming too, until it ghosted over him in a fog of lazy pleasure, his breath rushing out to meet Steve’s.

“I’m sorry,” he said right afterward, his voice hoarse.

“Hmmm?”

“I forgot to ask for permission to come.”

“Oh,” Steve said, smiling fondly. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I know you’ll remember next time.” He was usually pretty strict about his rules, so it was a testament to just how tired he was that he let it slide.

It was a little easier to ignore the love that melted his heart and coursed through his veins than it had been a few weeks ago, but he still allowed himself to show even the tiniest bit of his true feelings through touches and kisses after they finished. They stayed entangled for several minutes, tracing circles along each other’s skin, before they reluctantly trudged to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed. Steve looked sleepy and sated as they brushed their teeth side-by-side in the small bathroom, and Bucky wasn’t even sure if he’d make it to the bed before he passed out.

He did make it, but just barely. Steve was already knocked out before Bucky reached over and turned off the lamp. It took an argument and an orgasm, but at least his idiot of a best friend would finally get some rest now.

*

The week leading up to the art show was exhausting as Bucky juggled the end of the semester and helping Steve any way he could. He worked one-on-one with Sam almost every day with last-minute logistics, catering, and hanging up paintings and photography and installations around The Vic. By the end of the week, he realized the dumb, senseless tension between the two of them had faded into nothing, so he took Sam out for a beer that Friday night. They left Steve behind to fuss over last-minute details because he was Steve Rogers and there was no stopping him once he was focused on something.

“Hey, listen,” Bucky said after ordering some mozzarella sticks and another beer. “I wanted to say thanks for being so welcoming when I got back to New York. Inviting me to The Vic and everything.”

Sam shrugged. “It was no problem. Glad that it’s become a second home for you too.”

Bucky had never thought of it that way, but it was true. It was where he had made friends and made a place for himself when Steve had been the only person he’d known here. He nodded. “Yeah. You’re an alright guy, Sam. Even if it took me a while to figure that out.”

“Well, I’m fucking flattered, I guess,” he replied with a laugh and tipped his glass forward to clink against Bucky’s. They spent the rest of the evening geeking out over sci-fi novels and B movies and 90s hip-hop before Steve finally texted Bucky that he was ready to head home.

On Saturday morning, Bucky got up before Steve and made his grandma’s biscuits and gravy and a large pot of coffee. Steve gave him a tired, but fondly grateful smile when he woke up, and they ate on the couch and watched _Drunk History_ while Alpine curiously sniffed Bucky’s plate.

Then Bucky sat Steve down in the bathroom, took off his shirt, and buzzed Steve’s undercut for him, kneeling beside him as he worked. It was a little more difficult from this angle, but serving Steve in this manner fulfilled him in a way he could hardly even describe, especially when Steve would smile at him, warm and pleased, whenever they caught each other’s eye. When he finished, he rubbed Steve’s scalp for any missing spots, and Steve leaned forward and kissed him softly.

“Thanks, Buck,” he said.

He shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“Not just this. The last couple of weeks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Bucky rubbed at Steve’s thighs. “You’d do the same for me, idiot.”

*

The Vic was _packed_. There were so many people that Bucky had never even seen, and it made him stupidly happy to know that they were all here for Steve’s show. Steve looked gorgeous in a black leather jacket and a gray, collarless button-down shirt. He’d traded in his skinny jeans and docs for form-fitting slacks and a pair of dress shoes he only saw Steve wear when he was meeting with clients who wanted to be dominated in the boardroom. Bucky himself had his hair in a half-bun and was in an outfit that Steve had picked out for him—a sheer black shirt covered in cherry blossoms, slacks, dress boots, and… no underwear.

“Really?” Buck had asked when Steve had told him that.

He’d grinned at Bucky devilishly. “Really.”

Bucky hadn’t seen Steve’s work yet as Steve had wanted to mount it himself the night before. So he made his way around the room, heading toward the spots he knew Steve had displayed it. His heart caught in his chest because, of course, it was _him_. He saw himself, similar to the sketch he’d seen a couple of months earlier, but now he was gorgeously shaded in indigos and ceruleans and summery yellows. The colors instantly reminded him of afternoons in the dungeon upstairs, warm sunlight pouring into the room through candy-colored glass and Steve taking him apart piece by piece.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” a voice suddenly said behind him.

Bucky turned and there was a man behind him with an average build and stark white hair and beard. He was almost Bucky’s height, in his mid-to-late 50s, and he wore dark-framed glasses, a turtleneck, and a suit probably worth the price of Bucky’s first car.

He suddenly felt a bit self-conscious as this man appraised him as if _he_ were the work of art, and he laughed nervously. “I don’t know. Not sure if he got the nose right.”

The man chuckled and extended his hand. “Marcus Laurent.”

“Ah, Bucky,” he said, suddenly not wanting to share his last name when there was evidence of his extra-curricular activities right in front of them. Privacy was paramount in the scene (many people didn’t even use their real names), and he didn’t know this guy from Adam.

“I’m assuming you know this Steven Grant Rogers?” Steve, however, did not care at all who knew what he got up to in his spare time.

“Yeah.” He smiled and squared his shoulders, feeling really proud all of the sudden. “He put on this show actually.”

“Oh, I would love to meet him.”

“Alright, sure. I’ll go grab him.”

He meandered through the crowd and finally found Steve talking to Tash who was in an incredible, three-piece maroon suit. “Holy shit, you look hot,” Bucky said before giving them a hug.

“I clean up nicely when I want to, little bean.”

He turned to Steve. “Some rich fucker wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Steve said and turned to follow him.

“See if he’ll part with a few mil to give to The Vic,” Tash called out after them, and Steve huffed a laugh.

When they walked up, Marcus’ eyes immediately brightened upon seeing Steve, and he stepped forward to introduce himself.

“Your two pieces here are absolutely incredible,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Really. Your color work is on par with Lucciano.”

Steve’s eyes widened and his jaw actually dropped before he responded. “That’s really the best compliment I could ever receive. She’s been hugely inspirational to me as an artist.”

“She’d be tickled pink to hear that she’d inspired something so risqué.”

“Oh! Do you—” he leaned forward a bit, “—do you actually know her?”

He nodded, a little smug. “I do, though I don’t see her often. I don’t make it to Italy as much as I’d like.”

Steve’s eyes went big again, and Bucky tried to suppress a smile. He’d never consider Steve to be someone to get starstruck, but it wouldn’t have surprised him if he would have actually fainted upon meeting Giulia Lucciano.

“It’s a shame I’ve never seen your art before.”

Steve shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t unless you frequent cafés in Williamsburg.”

“I obviously need to come to Brooklyn more often,” he replied.

_Yeah, another rich asshole playing tourist is exactly what Brooklyn needs,_ Bucky thinks.

“Steven, I’m in New York for a few days before I head back to DC. Would you be free to meet at all? I would like to see more of your portfolio.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” They exchanged business cards and then Marcus excused himself to peruse the rest of the room.

“Holy shit, Steve.”

“I know.”

“Some rich art snob is going to buy your stuff.”

“I _know_.”

Bucky pulled him in for a kiss. “I’m so proud of you, Stevie.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve’s smile was bright and infectious, and happiness bubbled within Bucky to see it.

The evening was a whirlwind of people and art discussions, with a brief interlude of sneaking up to the private dungeon with Steve, Tash, and Sam for five minutes of peace and a slice of pizza that Sam had grabbed from a place down the block. When the event was over and everything had been cleaned up, Bucky felt a weird mixture of exhaustion and wired energy, and Tash suggested burning it off at a queer club back in Williamsburg.

So they followed Tash’s advice, called a Lyft, and took turns buying Steve way too many drinks when they arrived. Before he knew it, Bucky himself was tipsy and fuzzy and happily taking turns dancing with Tash and Steve. Tash was an infinitely better dancer than Steve, and Steve told him as much before he motioned for Sam to come over and dance with him so he could “let the pros have fun.”

By the end of the night, they were all sloshed and stupidly happy, and when they stepped outside, the streets were covered in a fine dusting of snow—the first of the season. They parted ways with hugs and well-wishes, snowflakes drifting on their shoulders, all four of them bundled up against the cold December night. Bucky entwined his gloved hand with Steve’s during their walk home, partially because he thought it’d feel nice and partially because he was drunk enough to need an exit buddy. Neither of them were wearing great shoes for trekking in snow.

“Did you have a good night?” Bucky asked, turning his head toward Steve as they walked.

Steve grinned, his face flushed from dancing and too many gin and tonics. “I don’t think it could’ve been any better.”

“Well, you did a great job.”

“_We_ did a great job.”

Bucky squeezed his hand. “I told you. That’s what friends are for.”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. “Yeah.” His feet hesitated for a second before continuing. “But I think — I think maybe we’ve always been more than just friends.”

Bucky’s heart began to pound in his chest. “Oh?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve got friends who I love so damn much. I’d do absolutely anything for Sam and Tash. Clint, too, on his good days. They’re basically my family. But… Bucky, nothing compares to what I—” his free hand pressed against his own chest, “—feel when it comes to you.”

“Steve,” he whispered.

They stopped walking and Steve turned to face him, his eyes searching Bucky’s face. “It’s like… life-or-death, end-of-the-line kind of shit. It used to scare me, when we were kids, how much I just... _felt_ when it came to you. Like… feelings so big that I couldn’t even keep them inside of my body. I didn’t even know how to put words to it then. I’m not even sure if I can put words to it now.” Steve’s eyes met his, serious, searching. “Love’s probably not a big enough word. But I love you.” He shook his head. “I’m _in_ love with you, Bucky.”

“God. God, Stevie.” Bucky leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were even colder than Bucky’s, but his mouth was warm against his tongue. Steve pulled him even closer, fisting a hand in Bucky’s hair, his head swimming from the drinks and Steve’s declaration and the feel of their bodies pressed together. He pulled back, their breaths visible in the cold night air.

It was funny; the words had tried to escape against his will so many times in the last couple of months, but now that he knew he was completely free to say them, he felt a bit shy in doing so. He laughed at himself before taking in Steve’s rosy cheeks, the snowflakes on his long lashes, the press of teeth against his bottom lip. Then he finally let all of that love and affection bubble up and over and he kissed Steve softly just once more. “I love you.”

Steve huffed a laugh, his whole face lighting up in response. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve kissed him again, then grabbed his hand to continue their walk home. As they journeyed together, their hands—and hearts—intertwined, snow continued to drift around them, hushing the streets of Brooklyn in a blanket of white. He knew it’d be sludge in a few hours, but he had Steve and he had Steve’s _love_, and so he had the feeling the world would still look rather beautiful when they woke up the next day, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky thinks in this chapter about how's he basically replaced therapy with kink. I certainly don't recommend doing that and am fully aware that that isn't a healthy decision! Of course, characters don't always make healthy choices.
> 
> We'll be wrapping this baby up in the next chapter. Thanks for joining us thus far!
> 
> **Pop culture references:**  
[The Halloween Costumes](https://www.indiewire.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/ST3-Production-Still-4-copy.jpg?w=780) \- idea courtesy of crinklefries


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve began to stroke his hair, and Bucky melted into the caress, warm and pliant like freshly dripped wax. He thought, sometimes, about this thing between them, how Steve’s firm, guiding hands steadied him, comforted him, allowed him to turn off his mind and just _rest_.
> 
> It felt… holy, in a way, like a covenant bound by love, precious and sacred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 4 kinks:**  
Buttplugs (in public), oral sex, anal sex, objectification, choking*, mid-scene negotiation
> 
> *Steve is a RACK (Risk-Aware Consensual Kink) practitioner. This is in juxtaposition to the more widely known SSC (Safe, Sane, and Consensual). At the end of the day, most kinks are inherently risky, and Steve believes that parties making consensual decisions only once they know potential risks is the best way to play. Choking is edgeplay; it is dangerous. Steve uses blood-choking, which puts little to no pressure on the trachea, and instead puts pressure on the blood vessels in the neck to create a similar sensation with less risk. Steve and Bucky have discussed these risks and have negotiated this.

_The only heaven I'll be sent to_  
_Is when I'm alone with you_  
Hozier, 'Take Me to Church'

“Well?” Bucky asked as Steve came in the door with his portfolio tucked under his arm.

Steve beamed at him. “He bought three pieces!”

“Oh my god!”

Steve placed the portfolio against the wall, took off his coat and scarf, and crossed the room to slide into Bucky’s lap. Alpine had been sleeping on the back of the couch, and he picked up his head when Steve sat down.

“How much?”

“A _lot_.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and gave him a quick kiss. His hands were still cold from being outside, and Bucky’s skin prickled at the touch. “Already put the check in the bank.”

“Are you rich now? Can I be your sugar baby?”

He tilted his head in thought. “You’d have to lounge around naked 24 hours a day and hand-feed me grapes when I come home.”

“Honey, you say that like it’s a hardship.”

Steve grinned and swiveled around to straddle Bucky’s lap. “So I thought this guy was just going to be some pretentious dude who likes pretty art, which yeah, he is. But he really knows his shit. And his people. He’s going to try to get my stuff in a couple of galleries in D.C.”

“That’s amazing.”

“I really had no idea that the art show would lead to this. I just wanted to do something for artists in the community.”

Bucky slipped his hand under Steve’s shirt and trailed the knobs of his spine with his fingertips. “Now I can say I knew you when.”

“Ha, yeah,” Steve replied, and then his face became more serious. “Hey, I was thinking.”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve never actually been on a date.”

“No, we haven’t.” This whole knowing they were in love with each other thing was pretty new, and the thought still made Bucky feel all melty inside.

“So. I’ve got a little extra dough. Let’s get dressed up and go to some swanky place in Manhattan tonight.”

Bucky smiled. “Alright.”

“Then, you know,” Steve’s hand grasped Bucky’s ponytail and pulled it taut. “We can come back here and get up to trouble.” He kissed along his jawline and down his throat, his lips a soft contrast to his teeth.

“What kind of trouble?” Bucky asked, his voice a bit strained as his dick started to chub up under Steve’s ass.

“Remember when,” his voice ghosted over his ear. “I asked you to tell me what you’d imagined us doing, and you said you wanted me to ride you and use you to get myself off?”

Bucky groaned. “Yeah.” He’d never fucked Steve before and the thought of him doing so while Steve used in him such a way made him achy with want.

“That sounds like a pretty good end to a first date, don’t you think?”

_Yes, please._ “A little selfish to only care about yourself on a first date, isn’t it?”

“Hey, I’m paying, sugar. Least you can do is put out.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and shrugged. “I suppose that’s an arrangement I can make.”

*

Steve picked out Bucky’s outfit (a plum-colored v-neck sweater and a gray patterned scarf), but stopped him before he got dressed.

“I want you to wear a butt plug.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Just a small one; a little reminder that you’re all mine tonight.”

_I’m all yours all the time,_ Bucky thought. He could’ve said it out loud now, but he was still getting used to this new thing between them. He still felt a little nervous sometimes expressing just how much Steve meant to him and how much he loved him.

Steve pulled out a black box before opening it and setting it on the bed. Inside was a metal plug, nestled in satin. He picked it up.

“It’s heavy,” Bucky said, hefting it in his hand.

Steve returned with the lube. “Yes, but designed to be more comfortable for longer periods of use. And to not fall out.” He took the plug from Bucky’s hand. “Now take off your underwear and bend over for me.

He followed Steve’s instructions, his cock already swelling in anticipation. He felt Steve’s hand against his back, rubbing him gently before sliding over his ass.

“You look so good like this, baby,” Steve said, and Bucky whimpered in response. Steve had been right; he used endearments all of the time, with him, with friends, probably with clients. But he’d never heard him call anyone _baby_. If Steve noticed, he didn’t say anything, he just pushed the plug against his entrance. It was cold, and Bucky jumped a little in response. “Shhhhh,” Steve whispered before pressing it inside of him, a sigh escaping Bucky’s lips as he did so. “Now stand up. How does it feel?”

“Good,” he responded. “Full, but not… too full? It’s nice.”

“Perfect.”

*

They went to Midtown after the shows had already started since it had been easier to get a last-minute reservation that way. Steve complained the entire walk there from the station, which certainly helped in taking Bucky’s mind off of the plug rubbing against his insides with every step.

“Midtown is so awful.”

“You’re the one who picked the restaurant.”

“There are so many tourists!”

“You picked the restaurant!”

“We should’ve just stayed in Brooklyn.”

“You picked the fucking restaurant!”

Said restaurant had a 400-page wine menu and a one-page food menu, and although the entrées were delicious, the serving sizes were entirely too small. Bucky didn’t want to say anything and ruin Steve’s attempt to treat him on a first date, but when Steve looked forlornly at a Shake Shack on the way to their station, Bucky exclaimed “oh, thank god!” and hauled him inside.

“No more fancy dinners,” Steve said around a mouthful of crinkle fries. “We could’ve gotten ramen delivered and eaten it naked at home.”

Bucky shrugged and brushed his foot against Steve’s ankle. “It turned out kinda nice, if you ask me.”

“Well aren’t you fucking romantic, Bucky Barnes?” Steve asked, giving him a small, playful shove, which jostled the butt plug inside of him and made him squirm with a short burst of pleasure. Steve just smirked knowingly in response.

“You’re the worst.”

He winked. “I’ll remind you of that later.”

He felt the plug more prominently on their way back home without Steve’s incessant complaining, each step jolting it inside of his body until his cock began to react to the constant pressure against his prostate. By the time they got to the front door, he was hard and aching and ready for what was next.

“Please, Stevie,” he basically whined against Steve’s ear, crowding him as he unlocked the door.

“Step back,” Steve said without turning around, waiting for Bucky to comply before he finished unlocking the door. When they stepped inside, Bucky tried to reach for him but he held up a hand.

“I want you to get undressed, take out the plug, and wait for me in the bed.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Okay.” He did as he was told in just a couple of minutes, but it took about 10 minutes for Steve to come into the room. By that point, Bucky’s stomach was taut with nerves even if his cock was still fully ready to go.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. “I have a few ground rules for what we are about to do. I’m going to use your body. You are not allowed to touch me, you are not allowed to speak. Sounds are fine, but words are not. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathed.

“Because you are not allowed to speak, you cannot possibly ask me to come. I’m giving you permission to come after I have. You can speak after that point as well.”

Bucky nodded, keyed up just from the rules alone. “Okay.”

“You are, of course, allowed to safe-word at any time, as always.” Steve slid his hand under the blanket and caressed Bucky’s thigh. “Now, I know I _love_ touching you, and I can only assume you feel the same way about me. It will be difficult to not reach out and reciprocate. It’ll be difficult to not kiss me. But those are the rules. Do you have any questions before we start?”

“No, Stevie.”

“Okay. We’ll start now.” Steve got undressed, taking his time. When he dropped his underwear to the floor, Bucky could see that his dick was fully hard, and it gave Bucky a little frisson of pleasure to know how turned on he was in that moment.

Steve climbed on top of him, settling so that Bucky’s cock just barely brushed against his ass, but Bucky was so keyed up from anticipation that he gasped at just that small amount of friction. Steve took his own dick in his hand and began to pump his fist slowly, his chest rising and falling with each stroke. Bucky watched him with his hands tucked under his own thighs to resist temptation, and he thought, not for the first time, how beautiful Steve looked like this — his eyes closed, his soft mouth parted around an _Oh_. He wished he could tell him, make Steve feel as appreciated as Steve always made him feel.

Steve opened his eyes, his gaze falling to Bucky’s lips as he crawled forward and straddled his chest. “Open your mouth,” he said firmly before guiding his cock inside.

Steve began by moving shallowly, getting his dick wet more than anything, then finally grabbed Bucky’s hair and thrust forward, hitting the back of his throat. Bucky whimpered in response, and as Steve started to fuck his mouth in earnest, Bucky saw that his gaze was firmly focused on the length of his hardness sliding against Bucky’s lips. It took a couple of minutes to realize that Steve hadn’t met his eyes once, that he was purposefully not looking at him, and he _moaned_ around his cock, heat curling up his spine from the realization that Steve really was using his body for his own pleasure.

It shouldn’t make sense. It _didn’t_ make sense, really. Steve was treating him like… a thing, an object. And yet he was so turned on, precome sliding down his aching dick, his body shaking with want. _Please_, he thought, _please. More_.

Steve pulled out with a breathy “_fuck_,” his hand a vice grip around his cock, and Bucky found himself wanting to chase it with his mouth, missing the overwhelming feel of it. It was hard to not call out his name. It was hard to not reach up and slide his palms over his thighs, dusted with fine golden hairs.

Steve backed up to kneel above Bucky’s lap, reaching into the nightstand drawer for a condom and lube, and Bucky’s heart pounded with the knowledge that he was about to be inside of Steve for the first time. Steve slicked up his fingers and reached behind himself, and Bucky knew when he’d slipped a finger inside because he groaned quietly, his eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky’s breath caught in his chest as he watched Steve work himself open, soft pants and hushed moans escaping his lips. Every so often, his hand would brush Bucky’s erection, and it took everything within him to not move against him to feel his touch even more.

When he was finished, he scooted to the side and rolled a condom onto Bucky’s cock, stroking him a few times before slicking it with lube. Then Steve straddled his hips, reached behind to grab Bucky’s dick, and slowly lowered himself onto it.

Steve groaned, head tilted back, baring the pale column of his neck until Bucky was firmly inside of him. His hole was so tight, a hot vice clenched around Bucky’s prick, and his body shook with the effort it took to not thrust up in that welcoming warmth. Steve exhaled and ground against him, just the barest movement of hips, but it was enough to make Bucky gasp.

“God,” Steve breathed as he began to ride him slowly. “You feel so good.” Bucky felt as though his skin was buzzing with electricity, craving to _touch_ him, kiss him, wanting so desperately to wrap himself in Steve as the pace quickened. He whimpered at the thought, and Steve’s eyes opened in response, his gaze raking hungrily down his body.

And then he leaned forward, wrapped his hand around Bucky’s neck, and pressed his fingers against his pulse points.

Bucky closed his eyes. He heard the blood pounding in his ears, he felt the pressure building inside his head, the world narrowing to Steve’s slender hand wrapped around his throat. His mind began to go fuzzy at the edges, he could barely even feel Steve riding him. When he finally tried to take a small, shallow breath against his fist, Steve let go, and everything came rushing back, his senses flipping back on as quickly as they had left him.

He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes to see Steve _looking_ at him, their eyes finally meeting.

“St—” he started to say before remembering himself through the light-headed aftermath of not only being choked but falling deeper into the hazy warmth that so often came from their time together.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, a desperate tinge to his voice. “Bucky.” He leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Bucky didn’t reciprocate, though, unsure why Steve would be doing this when he wasn’t supposed to touch him. He made a confused noise. Then Steve picked up Bucky’s hands and placed them on Steve’s waist. “Bucky, baby. Please. Touch me. Want you so bad.”

“C-can I?” he mumbled. He just wanted to be good for Steve, and he didn’t want — didn’t want to fuck it up.

“Yeah, baby. C’mere.” He brought his hand to the back of his neck and pulled him forward, readjusting his own body to accommodate the new position. “You can kiss me and touch me and talk to me. Want all of you here with me.” He ground their hips together, gasping.

“Stevie,” Bucky panted before wrapping his arms around him and kissing him. He felt loose-limbed and wobbly, gone as he was at that point, but Steve didn’t seem to mind, his body melting and his mouth sighing against Bucky’s.

“That’s it.” He moved against him again and again, creating the most delicious friction. “That’s my good boy.” Steve leaned back, one hand resting on Bucky’s shoulder and the other moving to touch himself. His eyes squeezed shut, his movements becoming more erratic. “Fuck, mmm, Bucky,” he cried out, and then he was pulsing hotly over his fist and onto Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky groaned in response, tilting forward to kiss him, until Steve fisted his hand in his hair and pushed him back against the pillow. “Stevie, please,” he whimpered.

“I gotcha,” he responded, glassy-eyed, moving his hips against him. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” He kissed along Bucky’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

“Yeah,” he responded, feeling it build within him.

“Come on, baby. Come inside me. Fill me up,” Steve said, and Bucky groaned, his hips stilling against Steve’s, hot waves of pleasure washing over him as he grasped at Steve’s hips. Then Steve pressed his forehead to Bucky’s for a moment, their breaths intermingling as they came down together.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said, getting up to take care of the condom and clean up. When he came back to bed, he wrapped his arms around Bucky and pulled him close.

“Hey. I’m sorry,” Steve said a few minutes later, kissing his forehead.

“What?” Bucky mumbled, still floaty. He’d recently learned that being choked made him space harder than anything, and it seemed that tonight was not an exception.

“I kinda failed at giving you what you asked for.”

“Mmm, no.” He shook his head. “It was good.”

“You sure, Buck?” He smiled shyly. “I got greedy. Missed your hands and your mouth.”

“Wanted to touch you anyway.”

Steve began to stroke his hair, and Bucky melted into the caress, warm and pliant like freshly dripped wax. He thought, sometimes, about this thing between them, how Steve’s firm, guiding hands steadied him, comforted him, allowed him to turn off his mind and just _rest_. It felt… holy, in a way, like a covenant bound by love, precious and sacred.

_He restoreth my soul,_ he thought with surprise, but then he closed his eyes, tucked his face into the crook of his neck, and allowed Steve’s hands to do just that.

*

A week later saw Steve and Bucky getting on a plane to Raleigh to visit his parents for Christmas. It was a slight relief to have Steve’s comforting hand wrapped around his during the flight, but the pit in his stomach still gnawed at his insides, and he was still a shaky bundle of nerves by the time they stepped off the plane. Clint and Lucky were staying at the apartment with Alpine while they were gone, and at least there were five photos of the animals playing and cuddling when he turned his phone back on.

His mom was waiting for them when they arrived, and she practically jumped into Steve’s arms when she saw him. “I’m just so happy for you both,” she exclaimed before hugging Bucky too. They’d both called her and his dad a few days earlier to tell them that they were dating. Steve was beaming as brightly as she was, his cheeks tinged pink, and Bucky’s heart bloomed and unfurled in his chest at the sight.

His dad was at home when they got there, and though he was all smiles when greeting them, Bucky could see how grief had changed him. He was thinner, his hair was grayer, and his eyes held a sadness that never seemed to go away. A few times, he’d catch his mom looking at him, her brows knit together in worry, and he’d ache for both of them. It was hard enough to have lost his baby sister; it must’ve been so much worse to have lost their child.

Steve and Bucky made cookies with his mom like they used to when they were kids, the whole kitchen covered in flour and confectioner’s sugar. They drank boozy hot chocolate as Winnie pressed shapes into the dough — trees and snowflakes and snowmen.

“Sarah and I always knew,” she said.

“Knew what?” Bucky asked, stealing a cookie from the tray and pilfering some royal icing from Steve’s decorating station.

“Hey!” Steve said, smacking his hand, and Bucky gave him a cheeky grin as he escaped to the other side of the kitchen.

“That you two would get together!”

“You did not,” Bucky replied.

“Yes, we did. We talked about it several times.”

“What would mom say?” Steve asked, putting down the piping bag.

“Oh that she could tell how much you meant to each other, and wondering how long it’d take to for you two to figure it out.”

Steve smiled softly, visibly moved by this new information about Sarah.

“Of course,” his mom continued, “we had no idea that things would change. That marriage would be an option.”

_”Mom!”_ Bucky could feel his face heat up in absolute, total mortification.

“What? Your mother can dream, can’t she?” Then she gave Steve a conspiratory wink.

*

They spent Christmas morning around the tree, sipping coffee and opening presents together. The biggest surprise was from Steve when he gifted his parents a watercolor portrait of Becca. He must’ve worked on it while Bucky was in class because he’d never seen it before, and he was just as surprised as his folks to see it. All three of them cried when they opened it, but his dad got up and hugged Steve so hard that Bucky was worried he might bruise him.

Of course, if Marcus Laurent had his way, Steve had probably just gifted his family something worth quite a bit of money.

After presents, they went to his grandma’s for brunch, where Steve spent half of the time charming her in the kitchen and the other half berating his aunt’s racist brother-in-law on the back porch. Bucky tried to help him out more than once, but there really wasn’t getting a word in edgewise once Steve got going.

Then, before nightfall, Bucky and Steve drove to the cemetery and brought flowers to Becca’s grave. They sat on the cold ground in front of her tombstone and shared a hot thermos of chai tea between them.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” he asked Steve after several minutes of silence, his voice thick with melancholy.

Steve was holding his hand and he felt him squeeze it in response. “Yes and no,” he said. “You’ll go days without thinking of her, and then you’ll hear something or see something, and the pain will come back again. It’ll be dull, but it’ll still be there.” He paused for a few moments. “But I had you to help me with mom. And you’ve got me too. I’ll be there to help you through it.”

*

Later that night, Steve came into the bedroom in BB-8 Christmas pajamas — courtesy of one Winifred Barnes — and rummaged around in his suitcase until he brought out a box.

“One more gift,” Steve said before handing it to him. Bucky was sitting on the bed, and he reached out to accept it. The paper was a little damaged from being in his suitcase, but not enough for him to be able to tell what was inside. He ripped the paper and opened the box to see a strip of black leather with a buckle and a silver ring in the middle.

“A collar,” Bucky whispered, his eyes flying to Steve’s.

“A play collar. For our scenes and for when we go to The Vic.” Steve reached out and traced his knuckles along Bucky’s cheek. “I’d like to really collar you one day, but that’s — big. To me, anyway. I’ve never done that before, and we’d need to figure out what that means for us.”

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest. “Stevie.”

Steve smiled, his eyes shiny with tears. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to try it on?” Bucky nodded, and Steve sat behind him, his lithe legs framing Bucky’s hips, before he reached for the collar and fastened it around his neck. Bucky reached up and traced the soft leather with his fingertips. “How’s it feel?”

He closed his eyes and leaned against Steve. “Like I’m yours.”

Steve’s arms circled around his waist, and he placed a kiss below the collar at his shoulder. “You are, Buck. And I am yours, too.”

*

The New Year came and went after a very intoxicated party at Sam’s, and the Spring semester started much more smoothly now that Bucky was back in the swing of things. Steve became increasingly busy as January turned into February, meeting with Marcus more and more, both locally and in DC. He had meetings at galleries and was selling more and more art, and the air held an excited, but frantic, energy as snow piled up on their windowsills.

Bucky found himself missing Steve in his absence, an ache bulding in his chest that never quite softened with their limited time together. Steve returned one Saturday afternoon in February, with a plan to stay put for the foreseeable future, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to burrow in bed together and not come up for air until school on Monday.

Steve, however, wanted to go to The Vic.

"Don't you want to stay home instead?" Bucky asked, grabbing Steve's ass and grinding his hips against him. They'd already had sex once, Steve holding him down and fucking him with his hand fisted in Bucky's hair, but Bucky had missed him and was already ready for more. "I can make it worth your while."

Steve laughed, but it sounded... off. "Well that does sound nice, but I've got a scene planned with Sam." And maybe Bucky had been too busy getting naked and getting fucked to notice that Steve hadn't seemed quite like himself since he'd walked into the apartment, like maybe something had been weighing on his mind.

Bucky's brows furrowed and he bit his lip. "Is everything alright?"

Steve smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, baby. Just tired. Will you take a nap with me before we go?"

Bucky nodded, but a pit of worry was forming in his belly, and while he lay in Steve's arms, he couldn't sleep a wink, anxiously wondering about whatever Steve wasn't telling him.

*

When they got to The Vic that night, Bucky tried his best to distract himself from The Steve Issue by hanging out with Tash at the front desk and, later, chatting with Clint on the mezzanine. Steve found them later after he'd finished his rope scene with Sam.

“How’d it go?” Bucky asked as Steve plopped down beside him.

“Oh, fine,” he responded, grabbing the ring of his collar to pull him in for a quick kiss.

“Cap, holy shit,” Clint said, “Tash told me about Italy. That’s huge, man. Are you going to do it?”

Bucky’s gut clenched suddenly, and he looked at Steve. “What’s he talking about?”

“Uh,” Steve replied before laughing nervously.

“Oh,” Clint said in obvious discomfort. “K. Yep. I’mma just—” he pointed behind himself and stood up to leave.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand. “Let’s, uh, go upstairs and we can discuss this.”

Bucky’s stomach churned in anxious worry, and every step upward to the private dungeon made him more and more on edge with whatever Steve could possibly tell him.

The room was cold when they stepped inside, so Steve turned on the heater and handed Bucky a blanket and took one for himself since they were both shirtless. Bucky wrapped his around his shoulders and stepped forward.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Steve scrubbed his hand over his face. “You remember at the art show when Marcus said he knew Giulia Lucciano.”

“Yeah.”

“He… has talked with her and shown her my work. And she’s, well, impressed.” He smiled, but it was nervous. He looked downward. “Marcus is talking with her about a one-on-one intensive. A—a year in Italy, which he would sponsor.”

A swirl of emotions rose within him so quickly that he actually felt lightheaded. He staggered backward. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was wavering.

“I—”

“Tash and Clint knew and I didn’t.”

Steve sighed. “Clint wasn’t supposed to know.”

“That doesn’t matter! I’m your best friend. I’m your _partner_. And you—you talk about how important communication is and then you keep something really important from me.” He could hear his voice getting louder, but he seemed unable to stop it. It was fucking freezing in the room, and he pulled the blanket tighter around his body.

“Bucky. I didn’t…” He didn’t continue.

“Did Sam know too?”

Steve hesitated and then nodded.

“Oh my god. Everyone knew except me.” He crossed the room and sat down on the couch. “You know, everything felt so different when I moved back. And this just proves it.”

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What does that mean?”

“It used to be just the two of us. Our whole lives. And when I came back, everything had changed. You had so many people in your life when—” and, fuck, he knew how bad this sounded “—it used to just be me.”

Steve’s mouth went flat, and Bucky knew he was in for it now. “Was I supposed to sit around lonely for the rest of my life just in case you decided to come back at some point?”

“No.”

“Am I not allowed to have other people in my life who care for me?”

“No, Stevie—”

“Don’t call me that right now,” he said with an edge to his voice.

Bucky swallowed back a sob. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

It’s just. It’s like you don’t even need me anymore.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, his body going slack like all of the fight had suddenly been sucked out of him. He took two steps forward and knelt down, pressing his cool fingers to Bucky’s cheeks, cupping his face. “I—I don’t.” Bucky couldn’t hold back the sob this time, and it shuddered through him, catching in his chest. “Shh. Listen to me. I don’t _need_ you in my life. But I _want_ you there. And isn’t that better?”

“How?” Steve’s words were a direct blow to his chest, and he felt concaved and hollow with pain.

“If I want you then I’m _choosing_ to be with you. Needing you means… obligation or dependence. That’s got strings attached. It’s conditional. This—” he pressed a hand to his own heart, “—this ain’t conditional, Buck.”

He took a deep breath, tears still filling his eyes. He loved Steve so much it made his chest ache, and it was worse when Steve was the one causing him pain. “You’ve hurt me, Steve.”

“I know. Fuck, I know. I’m sorry.” He stood up and sat on the other side of the couch. “May I hold you? Please?”

Bucky nodded and crawled forward, lying on his side between Steve’s open legs. He rested his head against Steve’s chest and listened to the thrum of his heart. Steve pulled the tie out of his hair and ran his fingers through it, and still, even with things still heavy in the air between them, it felt good. It felt right.

And then, before he even knew it, Bucky was sound asleep.

*

He woke up a few hours later with a kink in his neck and Steve’s hands still in his hair. He sat up and blinked his eyes open. The room was only illuminated by a dull lamp, but he could still see Steve clearly. He looked so soft and beautiful in that instant that he momentarily forgot what had happened before he’d fallen asleep.

“Hey,” Steve said, turning to him with a small, sheepish smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. But okay.”

“Do you want some water?” Bucky nodded and Steve crossed the room to open his locker and pull out a fresh bottle. “Here.” He handed it to him before kneeling down in front of him.

Bucky took several drinks of it before he felt stable enough to ask what he needed to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve took a shaky breath. “I don’t know. It’s dumb. Everything has happened so fast since the art show. And suddenly an opportunity that I could never even dream of fell into my lap. Painting with Giulia fucking Lucciano. But,” he reached forward and cupped the nape of Bucky’s neck. “But you’re my dream too. And you’re here and you’re real and I finally have you. This thing between us is so new. I don’t want to fuck that up.”

“Steve,” he murmured. He grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“I told Tash and Sam because I wanted their help in figuring out what to do.”

“You could’ve told me. We’re in this thing together.”

“Buck, one fucking look at you can turn my brain to mush. How can I choose a 72-year-old woman in Italy over you when you look like my literal wet dream?”

“Oh my god, did you really have wet dreams about me?”

Steve shoved him backward in response. "You’re the worst.” And somehow, that was all it took to break the stifling tension between them. Bucky’s back hit the couch cushion and Steve crawled up into his lap, both of them laughing and grappling with each other.

“Steve,” he said a couple of minutes later, sobering up to continue. “You don’t have to choose. I’d be here waiting for you when you got back.”

Steve frowned. “I know, but—”

Bucky grabbed his face in his hands. He'd missed Steve like crazy while he'd been in and out of DC, and he knew that a whole year without him wouldn't be easy. And yet— “You’ve gotta take it, Stevie. Most people never get a chance like this. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t do it.” He grinned. “And hey, big spender, you’ve got all this money now. I’ll come and be your kept boy during the summer and on spring break. I’ll spend all day eating pasta while you’re dutifully painting with your maestra, and then you can come home and have your way with me.”

Steve gave him a soft smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, dumbass.”

“Dumbass?” he asked, his grin turning a bit devilish. “That deserves some punishment, don’t you think?”

He shook his head. “Can I counter-offer with funishment?”

Steve laughed before pulling him forward by the ring on his collar. “I guess I can make an exception this time.”

Steve bent down to kiss him, and although Bucky had no idea what exactly the next year would hold, he knew, without a doubt, that they’d make it out the other side, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and supporting!
> 
> I've read so many wonderful BDSM Stucky stories that portray Steve and Bucky meeting because of kink. So I was inspired to write and see what would happen if the lifelong friends that we know and love explored this dynamic together. It was a wonderfully fulfilling journey, and I’m so happy we’ve gotten to share it with you!
> 
> Thank you again to MsPooslie for creating such lovely pieces for this collaboration. It was truly an honor to work together.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the very real place upon which The Victorian is based. I spend way too many hours of my life working there, but it’s where I’ve met some of my closest friends and where I’ve truly found myself. It’s my own home away from home, and I’ll always be grateful for it!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us on Twitter!:  
Author: [sablier_bloque](https://twitter.com/sablier_bloque)  
Artists: [MissPooslie](https://twitter.com/MissPooslie)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Artwork for "Found God in a Lover"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064016) by [MsPooslie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPooslie/pseuds/MsPooslie)


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